


Alpha, Beta and Omega

by sarahyellow



Series: Alpha, Beta, Omega [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Beta Bucky Barnes, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Class Differences, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Discipline, Dubious Consent, Edwardian Period, Hate to Love, Honeymoon, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Period-Typical Underage, Spanking, Strapping, Top Steve Rogers, Traditional Marriage: Head of Household
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow
Summary: Bucky Barnes is seventeen when he finds out about his contracted engagement to Steve Rogers.





	1. An Engagement

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Broken Dreams and Mended Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421641) by [Kellyscams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU, it's Edwardian times, so like 1910 (think Titanic-era). The US government has free elections for congress, but all 100 senate positions (2 per state just like in real life) are and always have been inherited titles. So the 100 senate positions belong to 100 families that are basically like American Royalty. Senators carry tiles of Lordship and Ladyship and are highly esteemed and carry celebrity status.
> 
> In addition to this, the relationship ideal most people aim for is a married triad of Alpha/Beta/Omega. Alphas are the head of the household, and domestic discipline is common. 
> 
> Finally, I took a lot of inspiration from /Of Broken Dreams and Mended Hearts/ by Kellyscams for this story and for the series of which it's a part. There are tons of differences and the story is my own, but I really felt that her work needed to be acknowledged as a strong influencing factor, since that story she wrote was SO good and I got so much inspiration and enjoyment from reading it. I wholeheartedly encourage everybody to go check it out!

Bucky sits despondently on one of the front parlor’s settees. “Nobody,” he tells his mother, but of course she already knew that was the answer to her question. Bucky hasn’t had interest in courting anyone, and nobody in society has expressed any interest in him. Not since his accident, leastways. His now-lame arm and the scarring that creeps up the left side of his neck have managed to dampen the interest he used to get from suiters. “I don’t want to marry, certainly not now. I’m seventeen for Christ’s sake.”

Winnifred sighs, the pen that she’s had poised in-hand lowering. “James, I love you and I’m sorry, but now is when you have to do it. You’re done with finishing school and thank god for that. You need to do this.”

“Why?”

Bucky’s mother has never been one to suffer his bullshit. She shoots him a glare. “You _know_ why. It’s only a matter of time before your father’s misconduct is made public knowledge. Once Frank Castle—”

“ _Don’t_ say his name.” 

“Once that man testifies before congress, your father is sure to be ousted. _Weapons_ smuggling, James? You’ll be completely ineligible. No one will have you.”

“No one like us, you mean. Not everyone has to marry into the Senate, mother,” Bucky snaps. “Christ, we’re probably all inbred at this point.”

“James!”

“I have _plans_. I want to go to university.” He throws his hands up. “Who even marries their beta first anyway?! What’s wrong with this guy that he can’t find an omega?”

“Please,” his mother scoffs. “Captain Rogers is a very reputable gentleman.”

“You don’t _know_ him!” Bucky stands up from the couch, walking restlessly over to the fireplace. “Please tell me you haven’t written to him already?” Winnifred tenses, but then she seems to steel herself and she nods tersely. Bucky curses. “Mother!”

“It needs to be done, James. There are no other prospects and Captain Rogers—”

“Ugh, stop calling him that. What’s his _name_?”

Winnie purses here lips. “He’s the _Lord_ Steven of House Rogers, and you _will_ be respectful, James.”

Bucky huffs. “Well I’m the _Lord_ James of House Barnes and I—”

“You’re the lord of nothing!” Winnie snaps, standing up from her chair at the writing desk. She’s glaring at Bucky now. “And you never will be, if you don’t marry this man. We’re about to lose everything. Your father has seen to that. Soon, House Barnes won’t exist. There will be elections— _elections_ , James! Can you even believe it? We’ll all be common.”

Bucky looks away. “What’s so wrong with that?” he mumbles.

“Maybe nothing for you. Maybe you could manage, go off to university and make something of yourself anyway, but think of your sisters. They won’t be able to marry well and they’re omega, so what are they supposed to do? Take positions as shop girls? Ladies’ maids?”

Bucky’s heart lurches and his eyes shoot back to his mother. “That’s not fair.”

Winnie’s features soften in sympathy. “I know, sweetheart, I know.” She gets up and comes over to him, the long hem of her dress brushing the carpet as she goes. She pulls him into a hug and Bucky can’t help but to lean into her. “Oh, Bucky,” Winnie says, using his nickname for once. “You’ve always been such a little grownup. Sometimes I forget how young you really are. But life isn’t fair, and I’m afraid this might be where you have to start learning that.”

“Don’t make me do this, mom,” Bucky whispers into the perfumed fall of her hair. Even as he’s saying it though, he knows it’s a lost cause. His father broke the law in a massive way and got caught, and as soon as word gets out, they’ll be ousted from their Senatorial position. Bucky and his sisters will inherit nothing, and it’ll be the scandal of the century. The Barnes’ have held one of New Jersey’s two seats since the inception of the Senate. A hundred and twenty years of tradition down the toilet because of Bucky’s stupid father. “Please,” he says softly. “There has to be something else we can do.”

“It’ll be alright,” Winnie tells him, pulling away from the hug and looking him in the eye. “I promise you. I’ve corresponded with Captain Rogers for several weeks now, and I’m confident he’ll make a good husband for you.”

Bucky shakes his head, angry all over again. “No! He won’t. How could he? I don’t even know him!” It’s a silly argument, really, since many men of Bucky’s station enter into arranged marriages, but even still… Bucky’s Beta; he’s always had this luxurious assumption that he’d be able to fool around for a decade longer than most—get educated, make mistakes, have fun. And now that he’s finally come of age and is on the precipice of actually getting to do those things, he has to go off and marry some old man he’s never met? The reality of it is worse than a bucket of cold water to the head. “I don’t want to marry a fucking stranger,” he grumps.

“Really, Bucky. Don’t use foul language.”

“Fine then. I don’t want to marry some old man.” At Winnie’s raised eyebrow, he says, “Well he must be old, if he’s already assumed the seat!”

“He’s young, actually,” Winnie counters with a frown. “Twenty-four. Senator Rogers had a state funeral last year. I’d have expected you to remember it.”

Bucky shrugs like he doesn’t care. “Well I don’t. What seat is he, then?” 

“New York,” Winnie says, expression perking up as she hurries back to her desk. “Here, I have the letters if you’d like to—”

“No,” Bucky says curtly. He straightens up and makes to leave the room. “I don’t need to read them. It’s fine. Just arrange everything and tell me when to show up.”

“Oh, honey…”

“Don’t,” Bucky says tersely. “Just don’t. It is what it is. Guess I’m moving to New York.” 

He leaves the room then, and assumes that his mother writes another letter to the Lord Rogers, confirming their engagement.

.oOo.

Bucky’s _been_ to New York, of course. It’s where all the best parties are. Bucky himself had been introduced into society at sixteen at a ball in Manhattan. It’s a pretty wonderful place, actually, and he’d have been perfectly happy if it’d been university or even his own youthful adventures that brought him to live there, but the fact that it’s a marriage of convenience means that he’s not happy about it. Not one little bit.

Lord Rogers gets word back fairly quickly, it seems, and before Bucky knows what’s what, a dowry has been agreed upon and arrangements are being made. The servants start packing his things and the neighbors visit with well wishes and Bucky is just _dying_ inside, because he can’t stand this. He’s engaged, and he hates that it’s out of his control. 

So, to feel better about the whole situation and to maybe just cause a scandal, Bucky—engaged as he is—takes the train to New York with some friends for a night out on the town. House Romanov is hosting an evening at the St. Regis, and it’s where everyone who’s anyone will be. 

The party’s in full swing by the time Bucky walks through the doors. He inhales deeply, feeling some of the tension of the last two weeks slipping away. He’s going to have a good time tonight, impropriety be damned. Hell, he’ll be disappointed if by tomorrow morning there aren’t headlines in some cheap tabloid. With a smirk and drink swiped off a passing waiter’s tray, Bucky thinks that perhaps his stupid father won’t be the only one in the papers, come Monday.

The party isn’t meant for Senators themselves, and it’s obvious. Bucky and his loose group of friends wouldn’t have bothered if it was. It’s younger people who crowd the hotel ballroom—sons and daughters and fortunate friends of the country’s extended ruling class. The music is fast and loud, pushing the limits of what their parents would find suitable, and the dancing that’s taking place isn’t the requisite twelve inches apart. Never let it be said that House Romanov didn’t know how to throw a party. Everyone is dressed well, drinking too much and behaving loosely. Bucky stands towards the edge of the room and downs several glasses of champagne as he looks over the crowd, assessing his options. 

Suddenly, someone is at his side, starched skirts brushing the side of Bucky’s dress pants. He glances over. “Natasha,” he says. “Thank you for the evening.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, lips quirked up in that indecipherable way that they do. “But I honestly didn’t expect you to be attending.”

“Oh, and why’s that?” Bucky asks mulishly. He takes another sip of his drink with too much vigor.

Natasha looks at him full-on. “Does your fiancée know you’re here?”

Bucky scoffs. “No, and I wouldn’t care if he did. I’m free for a few more nights, at least.”

“A date’s been set, then?”

Bucky feels his guts squeeze at the reminder. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah. June first.” That evening is May twenty-fifth. He’s getting married in a week. Sighing, Bucky tosses back the end of his current glass and shoves it at a passing server. His head’s floating already, filled pleasantly with bubbles. He’ll be drunk within the half hour, he thinks. “This is my last hurrah,” he says to Natasha. “Don’t try to stop me.”

She snorts. “I won’t. You’re going to make a spectacle of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Why not? It’s not like my dear betrothed is here to stop me.” Bucky sneers, liking the thought of making a headline or two, then walking up to the altar and earning a glare. “If the good Captain cared, he’d be here, now wouldn’t he?”

Natasha laughs out loud. “I suppose,” she says. “Have fun, James.” She walks away, quickly greeting other guests around the room.

Bucky grunts, shaking off the thought that perhaps Natasha disapproves of his motives. Whatever, he thinks. He doesn’t care. He deserves a bit of fun. 

The first stranger to catch his eye is a handsome young alpha with auburn hair. Bucky doesn’t recognize him from any local Houses, but that doesn’t mean much. He’s only been introduced to society for a year himself, now, and he’s attended far fewer cotillions than most of his peers. He approaches the stranger with a cocky air. “Hey,” he says, drunk and ineloquent.

The stranger does a quick look over him, eyes flicking up and down his body. They wind up lingering on Bucky’s left side, his neck and stiff left arm. “You’re James Barnes,” he says. 

Bucky’s a little miffed at being recognized by his scars, but he lets it pass. He’s still got a pretty face, after all. He’s a little confident that it can make up for anything else. Especially to a half-drunk alpha with no date on his arm. The man smells interested, leastways. “Yeah,” he says. “And who are you? I’d think I’d remember such a handsome face.”

The man looks surprised, then he smirks, catching on to Bucky’s interest. His posture changes, turning more fully toward Bucky. “Oh?” he says. “Well I’m not society,” he says. “My family does business with House Stark.”

Bucky’s eyes light up. Even better. “Bourgeoises,” he says. “Just my taste.”

The man smirks. “Is that so?”

“Mmhm.” Bucky pulls him closer by the lapel of his jacket. “Do you want to get a room upstairs?”

The man laughs, but his scent grows. “You don’t waste time, do you? Don’t you want to know my name?”

Bucky grunts, grabbing the man’s hand and turning for the room’s exit. “No.”

-

Bucky obtains a reservation and a key from the front desk, and they make their way to the fancy hotel lifts. The grate gets closed and the operator averts his eyes as the two of them kiss languidly. Bucky snickers in his mind, wondering if the hotel workers will be the ones to give comments to the tabloids. The man he’s kissing does a fair job of it, despite his drunkenness. He favors brandy, Bucky can tell from the flavor of his tongue when it dips into his mouth, and his hands are large and rough where they grip Bucky’s sides. 

The lift dings their arrival and they step off. The poor operator looks downright relieved. He nods his head with still-averted eyes. “Sirs,” he says, then makes the lift go down. 

Bucky’s stranger laughs and tugs him along down the hall to their room. “I like you,” he says. “No wasting time.”

Bucky hums. He stands at the door to the room and tries to fumble the key into the lock, but it’s hard with his stranger standing behind, holding his hips and rubbing against him and kissing at his neck. “Hold on a damn minute.”

“Mm, can’t wait to undress you.”

Bucky groans. “Yeah, just let’s get in the room first.” He’s all for exhibitionism, but the hallway is too much, even for him.

The man laughs. “You’re engaged, aren’t you?”

“ _Yes_ , he is,” a voice cuts in, deep and unamused. 

Bucky inhales sharply and whips his head to the side. There’s a man standing there, looking borderline furious and smelling that way, too. He’s handsome—blond and strong-jawed, but he’s also in the way, and Bucky looks him up and down with a scowl. “Do you mind?” 

The man steps closer. He’s not looking at Bucky, but at the auburn-haired man. “Take your hands off him and get out of here,” the new stranger says. Bucky isn’t expecting him to listen, is actually expecting a pissing contest to take place, but then the guy’s hands leave his hips and he steps away. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding _very_ embarrassed, despite his drunkenness, then he hurries away back towards the lift. 

Bucky cannot believe it. He turns to glare at the new stranger. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!” he yells. He’s swollen in his pants, after all, and this guy has ruined his plans. The man doesn’t look abashed though. He looks disapproving as hell, which pisses Bucky off more. “I asked you a question,” he growls, getting in the alpha’s face.

The man doesn’t budge. He just looks at Bucky like he’s a stupid kid. “I think you’d better go in that room and sleep off the state you’ve gotten yourself into,” he says. “I’m booked into a room down the hall. I’ll see you home safely in the morning.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Bucky says, fuming. He reaches up to shove at the man, but he catches his hand and holds it in place just over his chest. Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Let me go.”

“Promise you’ll go in there and go to sleep,” the man says, still not acting like he’s in the wrong at all.

Bucky growls. “Fine!” He tries to yank his hand back and finds that the stranger allows it. He huffs. “Jesus, you fucking pretentious alphas, think you can do whatever you want. You’re gonna regret this. Do you _know_ who I am?”

The man’s lips quirk, for the first time looking amused, however wryly. “I know exactly who you are. You’re a spoiled brat who’s trying to make trouble.”

Bucky gasps. He feels like hitting the guy, but knows that he’d lose that fight _fast_. The man before him is big and fills out his suit in a way that lets Bucky know just how strong he must be. “Fuck you,” he says, angry and drunk and all of a sudden too-tired to maintain this argument. He turns jerkily away and focuses on getting his key in the lock. “You’re gonna regret this,” he mumbles again, though this time it’s with less venom since he can tell he’s not managing to get under this stranger’s skin. The door opens and Bucky pushes through. 

“Go to sleep,” the man commands, as if it’s his right to do so. “I’ll retrieve you in the morning.”

Bucky scowls at the idiot stranger and slams the door in his face. He doesn’t bother getting undressed or doing anything more than taking a piss in the en suite and yanking his collar loose before collapsing on the bed and passing out. 

.oOo.

A knocking wakes Bucky, the sound of it far too loud and confusing the hell out of him as he groans blearily and blinks his eyes open. “Uuugh,” he moans. His head is pounding, and suddenly he remembers the night before, remembers where he is. “Fuck,” he mutters, feeling like shit. He’d drank too much, and that stupid stranger had ruined the only reason why he’d imbibed anyway. He sits up in the bed, sparing a glance at his rumpled clothes. He hadn’t planned to spend the night in the city. A late-night train wouldn’t have seen his debauched state nearly as well as the daylight. Great, he thinks. Now he’ll have to trompse through the lobby of the St. Regis in broad daylight. “Fucking great,” he mutters. He gets up from the bed, as the knocking _hasn’t_ stopped. He opens the door, prepared to fling a nasty insult at whatever hotel employee has deigned to disturb him. “ _What_ do you think you’re—” he freezes, words lost. It’s the man from last night, the blond alpha who’d ended all his fun. Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m afraid not,” the man says, calm. He’s dressed for the day and composed, and he nods out at the hallway. “I’m seeing you home. Let’s go.”

Bucky laughs. This man is a fucking idiot. Bucky’ll have him detained at the front desk, he decides. Tell the hotel staff to hold him for harassment while Bucky leaves. Satisfied with the thought, Bucky nods and steps out, shutting the door and starting off for the lifts. The stranger follows, self-assured. Not for long, Bucky thinks.

He turns his key in at the front desk and tells the clerk his name. One mention of House Barnes and the woman’s eyes are widening in acknowledgement. “Of course, Sir. We have your account on file.” Bucky’s lips curl as he prepares to tell the woman to make sure the lunk at his side doesn’t follow him further, but before he can, her attention is shifting to said lunk and she’s saying respectfully, “And yourself, Captain Rogers? Are you checking out?”

Bucky’s heart seizes up. _No._ He looks over at the blond stranger and watches in vague horror as he answers to the name. Once the hotel employee has moved away, Bucky looks at the other man, astounded. “You’re Steven Rogers?”

The man—Captain Rogers, it would seem—nods. “My friends call me Steve.”

Bucky gapes, mortified. “You could’ve told me who you were!”

“And what would that’ve changed?” Steve asks, eyebrow arched. “You were on a mission to misbehave last night.”

“Your damned right I was!”

“James, be quiet,” Steve snaps, looking around at all of the other hotel guests that litter the lobby. “You don’t need to make more of a scene than you already have.”

Bucky sneers. “Oh, are you embarrassed, Lord Rogers?” Steve stiffens. He takes Bucky by the upper arm and begins steering him towards the hotel’s front doors. “Hey!”

“I’m embarrassed _for_ you, James,” Steve tells him as they emerge onto the street. He brings Bucky to the curb, where a car is idling. He opens the door and pushes Bucky in. Before he closes the door, Steve looks in at Bucky and tells him, “My man will take you home.”

“I don’t need your help,” Bucky snaps. 

Steve sighs. “I understand that you’re acting out or something along those lines.” Bucky scowls. “I also understand the situation that your family is in, and I won’t force you to do anything. If you truly don’t want to follow through on the engagement, you only have to write me a letter. I’ll make some excuse. I won’t let anyone else know it was your decision.” Steve looks at him seriously. “But if you don’t write me that letter, then I’d better never hear of you behaving like this again.” He pulls back before Bucky can say anything to that. He shuts the carriage door and claps the roof to tell the driver to go. Bucky can only watch out the window as his future husband’s figure shrinks into the distance.


	2. A Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I'd like to give credit to Rainne. Her fic Love Devotion Surrender gave me the idea for wedding wristbands.

Bucky starts at least four letters to Steve, in the following days. 

The little writing desk in his room becomes littered with scratched out, wasted sheets of paper. Nothing he writes seems right, and he gives up each time after only a handful of sentences. He can’t take Steve up on his offer to cancel, tempting as it is. Bucky’s mother and sisters won’t have anything if he backs out of the engagement now. He has to go through with it.

He spends the next eight days vacillating between feeling numb and being extremely annoyed. Everyone flits about excitedly, acting as if this is a happy occasion instead of the desperate, rushed affair that it is. Bucky’s mother talks about the small service they’ll be having as if it’s so chic that they’re bucking the trend of the big, public wedding, but Bucky knows the truth. There simply isn’t time to invite all of society to their nuptials. Invitations of necessity have been sent by telegram. There’ll be less than fifty guests.

And they have a dinner on the night before the wedding. Bucky’s family hosts (his father awkwardly absent). Steven Grant Rogers and his omega and beta fathers come over and participate in stilted conversation over the Barnes’ large mahogany dining table. Bucky sits despondently and traces the grain of the wood with a finger, thinking that it’s because of his sacrifice that his family won’t have to sell off furniture like the dining table, move out of their fine house and dismiss the household staff. The dowry that’s been decided on more than covers most of the Barnes’ expenses. They might have to live a bit more frugally, but not much. 

Bucky’s mother and sisters are trying to keep the conversation going over the table. Steve’s omega father talks more than his beta father. He’s a small, polite man who answers Winnie’s questions and speaks about his and his husband’s late wife with fondness. The servants bring in small courses frequently, which helps as it gives everybody a chance to keep commenting on the food rather than anything important. But eventually the moment comes when one of Bucky’s sisters is annoying enough to say something of consequence. “Where will you honeymoon?” Becca asks, and _god_ but Bucky could kick her. He glares at her, even as he feels his face heat at the thought of a honeymoon with Steve. Nervously, he peeks up at Steve to see what he’ll say.

He clears his throat, dabbing at his mouth politely with his napkin before saying, “I hadn’t considered it, I suppose.”

Bucky snorts, and Steve shoots him a little frown. “Perhaps your brother has an opinion,” Steve says. “Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes widen, surprised. Steve hasn’t called him anything other than James, until now. “What?” he mumbles.

“Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to go, for our, um, honeymoon?” Steve looks a bit flustered at mentioning the word. “Any place you’d like to see?”

Bucky shrugs. “I dunno.” He picks at his food. “No.”

Winnifred makes a noise of disbelief. “Oh! But Bucky, what about all the places you used to mark on that map up in your room?” She looks smilingly at Steve and his fathers and tells them, “He used to circle so many places in pen, I swear. Destroyed all the almanacs in the library doing it, too!”

Everyone laughs and Bucky grits his teeth. “It doesn’t matter, mother,” he hisses, wanting the conversation to stop. “Those were goals. It’s in the past.”

Everyone sobers at that, the air in the room growing thick with tension. Steve clears his throat and says to Bucky, “We can still travel, if you’d like. I’d love to see new places with you.”

Bucky’s eyes shoot up and he scowls. He stands from the table, the legs of his dining chair scraping against the carpet as it gets shoved back. “No,” he says. “The point was that I’d do it myself, and that’s impossible now, so no thank you.” He stalks from the room, hearing the unpleasant silence he leaves behind, before his mother starts making embarrassed apologies for his behavior. 

-

Bucky hides in the library after that. It’s always been his father’s domain, but now with him gone, nobody really goes in there save for the servants when they clean. Bucky sits in one of the leather armchairs and tries to make out what everyone is doing in the other rooms. They finish dinner and retire to the front parlor, Bucky can tell from the muted footsteps and voices. The clink of china eventually picks back up, and he imagines that they’re having coffee; that in maybe an hour or a little less, the Rogers will leave and Bucky’s mother will hunt him down to scold him for his behavior. Bucky huffs at the thought and considers that maybe he should sneak up to his room and lock himself in before that can happen. He’s about to do just that, when a soft knock comes at the library’s door, and then it’s swinging open. Bucky’s lips part when he sees that it’s Steve who’s coming in. He’s alone, too. He closes the door and walks over, nodding at the armchair across from Bucky’s. “May I sit?”

Bucky looks away. “Sure.” Steve sits down. Bucky tries not to look at him, but Steve sits there for so long, not saying anything and obviously staring at Bucky, that Bucky eventually has to acknowledge him. “What?” he asks rudely. “What do you want? Why did you come in here?”

Steve’s face, damn him, is calm. “I wanted to speak with you in private,” he says.

“About what?”

Steve sighs, rubbing his hands over the arms of the chair. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe about how you’re doing?”

Bucky scoffs. “I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you don’t seem like it,” Steve says, and his tone is firm. “You’re just as pissy as you were that morning at the hotel.”

Bucky glares at him. “Fuck off, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes go dark. “Don’t curse at me,” he says. “You can be as mad as you want but I won’t tolerate your disrespect when I haven’t done anything to you.”

Oh, that makes Bucky’s guts lurch with guilt. He tries to push that feeling away with yet more anger. “Whatever,” he says. “I don’t have to listen to you. We’re not married yet.”

“No, we’re not,” Steve says. “You haven’t decided against it, I’m assuming, since you haven’t written me.”

Bucky shakes his head the barest degree, unable to deny it. “No.”

“Okay then. I just wanted to check. You’re right that you don’t have to listen to me right now. We’re _not_ married yet. But starting tomorrow, Bucky, I’ll be your Headship. You’ll need to find a way to accept that.”

Bucky wants _so_ badly to curse Steve out for that, even though it’s just a simple fact that he’s stating. Alphas are heads of households, omegas are caretakers, and betas are… well they’re a lot of things, but Bucky never counted on having to figure it out for himself until much, much later. He looks at Steve. “Why do you want to marry me?” he asks. Until now, he hasn’t once considered it. He’s been too wrapped-up in being furious. “Why not some omega, first?” That’s how it’s usually done, after all. 

Steve looks taken-aback by the question, but he thinks about it, then says, “I’ve never met an omega—or a beta for that matter—that I’ve wanted to court.” He shrugs permissively. “Given, I’ve never been overly-social; always wrapped up in my work. But I’ve always wanted to get married and have a family eventually. I wasn’t actively seeking out an engagement when your mother wrote to me, but I felt moved by her letter. We started a correspondence—”

“Behind my _back_ ,” Bucky interrupts.

“—and that correspondence led me to think that it would be the right thing to do, to make the offer,” Steve finishes. 

“So you’re marrying me because it’s ‘the right thing to do’?” Bucky scoffs. “Stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, Bucky,” Steve says firmly, his stern tone getting Bucky to pay attention. “You’re young but you’re of age. And you’re smart, and good-looking as well.” He smirks. “But from what I’ve heard, you’re well-aware of that.”

Bucky inhales, embarrassed. “I—”

“Anyone I’d marry going forward wouldn’t be any better acquainted than you. The both of us know that these situations are usually arranged. So I’ve no objection to it, especially if we can be friends and learn to enjoy each other’s company.” He looks at Bucky pointedly. “Who would you have instead, if not me?”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something nasty, or at the very least blithe, but finds that he can’t come up with an answer. He huffs, frustrated at not being able to argue the point. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Just… I hate that I have to do this.”

“Do you hate _me_?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks at him sharply. “I… no.” Fuck, but he wants to. “I guess not.”

Steve nods. “Then stop acting like it. I’d like to get started on the right footing with you Bucky. I’ve offered you an out and you don’t want it, so let’s both agree to try our best, okay?” He’s looking at him earnestly, which is honestly more than Bucky deserves. 

Bucky feels tired, and like he doesn’t know what the hell to do anymore. He wants to vent his anger but Steve is making it damned difficult to have a convenient target. Bucky sighs and stands up, heading for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Steve,” he says, leaving before his husband-to-be can say anything else.

.oOo.

It’s a late-morning wedding. 

Bucky’s family hasn’t ever attended services with any regularity, so they convene at Steve’s Catholic church to give their vows. Bucky is, strangely, not nervous at all. Once he’d gotten dressed that morning and allowed the servants to pin a flower to his jacket lapel in the church’s side room, he’d kind of stopped thinking. It doesn’t seem real, that he’s about to walk down an aisle and give his life over to a man he hardly knows. 

Steve’s beta father pops his head in through the door and gives Bucky a small smile. Bucky tries to give something back, since Mr. Rogers seems like a nice guy, quiet and kind. Bucky nods at him when he asks if he’s ready to go, and takes his arm when he offers it. 

Steve’s church is large. The fifty or so guests that’ve come only fill the first few rows of pews. Bucky stiffens his spine and steadfastly avoids meeting anyone’s gaze. He especially doesn’t look at his mother. Not because of spite, but rather because he’s not sure what he’d do, if he saw her face right now. Probably cry. Reaching Steve at the altar, Bucky is reminded that Steve is a good few inches taller than him. He’s handsome in his suit, Bucky can’t help but think. He’s a very attractive man, and if this were under different circumstances, Bucky would probably be pining over him.

Only, it’s their _wedding_ , which isn’t something Bucky had had planned for himself. Not at this stage in his life. He gulps and takes Steve’s hand when he offers it, listening to the priest’s words as he starts speaking. Steve seems… not tense, per se, but stiff somehow. His eyes keep flicking over to Bucky every so often, and soon enough Bucky realizes that Steve’s trying to make sure he’s doing alright, without being obvious about it. Bucky stiffens his jaw, trying to appear as collected as Steve does. He doesn’t want the alpha to think he’s some stupid kid who can’t handle this. Bucky doesn’t need his sympathy.

When it’s time for them to say their vows, the priest has them turn to face each other. Steve holds both of Bucky’s hands and says, “I, Steven Grant Rogers, do take you, James Buchanan Barnes, to be my husband and beta. I promise to honor and protect you, to guide our household and care for our family. Going forward, I accept the responsibility of Headship to our union. I promise to share my life with you and, god-willing, the third to our marriage.”

Bucky gulps, his palms feeling sweaty where they rest in Steve’s. He repeats the vows that the priest lays out for him, glad that it’s done sentence by sentence, because he honestly doesn’t think he could manage to remember it all at once. “I, James Buchanan Barnes, do take you, Steven Grant Rogers, to be my husband and alpha. I promise to honor and obey you, to nourish our household and care for our family. Going forward…” Bucky’s throat feels tight. He has to take a shuddering breath before he can make himself utter the last words. “Going forward, I accept your authority as Headship to our union. I promise to share my life with you and, god willing, the third to our marriage.”

It feels like a huge weight is lifted from on top of his lungs, once the words are said. Air rushes back in, but it’s not a relief. It just means he can breathe again. Bucky blinks at Steve, taking in the way he looks satisfied, if not altogether joyous. The priest is talking, droning on about the sanctity of marriage and other things. He ushers the altar boy forward with the ring and wristbands. Bucky watches with a sense of disbelief as Steve takes his arms gently, fitting first one band of metal, and then the other over his wrists and clicking them shut. They fit, at least. They’re about the only thing in this situation that does. Then Bucky gets nudged by the altar boy, who’s looking at him impatiently, Steve’s ring held out. “Oh.” Bucky takes it, turning back to Steve. He’s looking at Bucky patiently, waiting for him to slide it onto his finger. Bucky takes a deep breath and does so.

Steve smiles kindly at him, once it’s done, and he squeezes their hands together. The priest starts saying things in Latin and moving his hands around, and then he’s pronouncing Bucky and Steve as husbands, saying they’re married and that Steve can kiss him. Bucky freezes on the spot, not having thought ahead to this part. Steve comes in and holds Bucky at the waist, one hand curling behind his neck as he dips in, kissing him before Bucky can freak out any further. He’s gentle about it, his mouth warm but brief on Bucky’s own. Bucky doesn’t have time to decide if he likes it or not before Steve is pulling back and everyone in the pews is standing up and clapping. Organ music that’s too grand for just their little gathering starts up, and Steve takes Bucky’s hand to guide him back down the aisle.

They’re married.

.oOo.

Mercifully, nobody tries to throw a grand reception to celebrate. Bucky thinks he would explode if he had to sit in a room full of people congratulating him on his _blessed_ marriage for three hours straight. Instead, Steve’s fathers have Winnie and Bucky’s sisters over for dinner and drinks, a few close friends of each of their families attending as well. House Romanov is there, so Bucky gets to see Natasha, and House Wilson attends as well. Senator Wilson’s son, Sam, is apparently Steve’s best friend.

Bucky watches the two of them talking on the other side of the ornate drawing room. Every once in a while, either Steve or Sam’s eyes will flit over to him as they talk, which is what lets Bucky know they’re most definitely talking about _him_. He tries to ignore Steve in favor of eyeing all the grand frescoes that decorate the ceiling, and the old, fabric wallpaper that lines the high walls. The Rogers, Bucky thinks, are clearly richer than the Barnes. The house they’re in makes that plain enough. Steve had _grown up_ here, Bucky thinks absentmindedly. Strange, since he in no way acts pretentious. Even his parents don’t. 

Bucky’s sitting on one of the parlor’s silk couches, Natasha at his side. “God, James,” she says. “I would’ve thought he was hideous, from the way you were complaining. Look at him. He’s textbook.”

Bucky grunts, sipping some of his wine. It’s his third glass and he has no concrete plans of stopping. Already, he can feel his body buzzing, a little numb but a little giddy too. He’s at least relaxed enough that he can sit with Natasha and stare at his new husband across the room. “Yeah,” he agrees. “He’s handsome.”

“He’s the youngest in the senate right now,” Natasha tells him. “The poster child for reform, they say.”

Bucky shrugs. He’s never paid too much attention to politics. A good thing, too, since he won’t inherit his father’s seat now, anyhow. Years of study would’ve been a waste of time. “That’s great Natasha,” he says, making his lack of interest clear. “I just need to get drunk enough to go to bed with him tonight.”

Natasha gives him a _look_. “You don’t always have the best ideas,” she says. 

“Hmph.” Bucky sips more wine. “Sure.” His eyes flick over to where his mother is chatting with Steve’s fathers.

“Oh no,” she’s saying with a sigh. “We never did find our omega, I’m afraid. It’s always been just the two of us. But it’s been a happy household. …Well, until recently.” She looks away, embarrassed. “Obviously.” The Rogers start trying to console her about the obvious ruin of her house. 

Bucky endures about two minutes of listening to that, before he stands from the couch and excuses himself from Natasha’s company. He finds his way into the kitchen, where a few servants are arranging things on platters, ostensibly to bring out and serve to the guests. They look alarmed at seeing Bucky in their domain and ask him if he needs anything. “No,” Bucky says, walking toward the counter and pouring himself some more wine from an opened bottle. The wine comes out white, mixing with the red that’s already in his glass. Bucky huffs at the mistake but doesn’t stop pouring until he’s got the glass mostly full. He nods at the staring servants and makes his way out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Everyone’s still convened in the parlor, but Bucky really doesn’t want to go back in there. He sips his drink, considering if he might snoop around Steve’s house. His eyes roam the fancy ceiling, which in the hallway is a rich, carved mahogany.

“Bucky.”

Bucky startles, attention shooting down from the ceiling to Steve, who’s appeared in the hall. He’s holding his hand out for Bucky. “Come on,” he says. “Our parents want to make a toast before we retire.”

Bucky’s lips part. “Retire?” he repeats dumbly.

Steve’s eyes soften and he nods, coming forward to draw Bucky along with him. “Yeah, come on. How many of these have you had?” His fingers approach Bucky’s wine glass and Bucky yanks it out of reach. 

“Not that many,” he says, grumpy. “I’m allowed.”

Steve seems to consider him for a long moment, but then he nods and doesn’t press the issue any farther. He moves Bucky along into the parlor. “Yes, you are. None after this, though,” he says, putting some of the command of an alpha’s Voice behind it. 

Bucky stiffens, never having been on the receiving end of Steve’s Voice. “No?” he asks, desperately wanting to do something to prove that he can have as much wine as he wants, that Steve isn’t the boss of him. But the dark metal bands around his wrists are evidence against that. They’re hidden by his shirt sleeves, but Bucky is well-aware of them against his skin. They’re weighty, just like the ownership they represent. “Maybe I’ll still have another glass, though,” Bucky mumbles mutinously, just loud enough for Steve to hear.

Steve steers them back into the parlor without taking the bait and then he announces that the evening is finally coming to a close and he and his new husband must retire. One of Bucky’s sisters starts giggling madly and Bucky sees his mother glare at her, and then both of Steve’s parents are making a toast, wishing them happiness, good luck, and lots of children.

Bucky blushes mightily at that, feeling like it’s awful presumptive that they’ll find their omega anytime soon. And that they’ll start having _babies_ with him (or her) right away. Bucky feels like a kid himself. He manages to meet both of his in-law’s eyes as Steve bids them good night. “Thank you,” Bucky mumbles. He accepts hugs from them and from his mother, and then Steve guides him out of the room and they both go upstairs. 

.oOo.

Steve’s in the bathroom, the water running as he performs his nightly routine, and Bucky stands by the end of the bed in his night clothes, wondering what he’s supposed to do. Should he… should he undress? Be naked when Steve comes in the room? Should he get under the covers? Bucky doesn’t know. He’s still quite buzzed from how much he’d drank downstairs, and it makes him feel a little willful, if he’s honest with himself. He’d chugged the last of his glass right before Steve’s eyes when they’d gotten to the bedroom and the alpha had told him to set it aside. Boldly, Bucky thinks that maybe he’ll be brave and push Steve down on the bed when he comes out of the bathroom, have his way with him. The thought makes Bucky giggle where he stands.

“What are you laughing about?” Steve asks as he enters the room, suddenly right there.

Bucky tucks his lips in. “Mm, nothing.”

Steve gives him an exasperated look, though he’s still smiling a little. “Bucky, you’re drunk.”

“I was trying to get drunk,” Bucky agrees. “That’s why they serve alcohol at weddings in the first place; so everyone can pretend they’re happy.”

Steve’s face gets sad at that. He goes over and sits on the edge of the bed, gesturing for Bucky to come and stand in front of him. Bucky does, fitting himself into the vee that Steve’s legs make. Steve takes both of his hands in his, pulling his arms forward until the sleeves of his nightshirt ride up enough to show the wristbands. “You don’t ever have to pretend to be happy,” Steve tells him quietly. “If that’s not what you feel. But I promise I’ll try to make you happy if I can.”

Bucky stares, too drunk and scared to say anything back to that. He chews his lip and tries to think of something to say. When he comes up short, he decides to just kiss Steve instead, and he surges in to press their mouths together with little finesse. 

Steve’s hands grab him at the waist, not pulling him away but holding him back so that they don’t topple back onto the mattress. One of his hands travels up to thread through Bucky’s hair, and he gains control over the kiss. He slows Bucky down, forces him to kiss lazy and slow, instead of fast and frenzied. He slips his tongue into the heat of Bucky’s mouth and Bucky whines. Steve chuckles, pulling back and meeting his eyes. “Do you like it when I kiss you?” he asks. 

Bucky grits his teeth. “That’s a stupid question.”

Steve arches an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

“Well it is.” Bucky steps back and, steeling himself, grabs hold of the fabric of his nightshirt. He yanks it up over his head, tossing it aside and standing naked before Steve for the first time. Before his _husband_. Bucky gulps, well-aware of Steve’s eyes on him. “Well? You want me?”

Steve nods. His gaze is heavy on Bucky’s body, dragging up and down unashamedly. “Yeah, Buck. I do.” One of Steve’s hands slides between his own legs, palming himself through his nightshirt. Bucky stares, overwhelmed at the sight. “Come here,” Steve says softly. “Come up on the bed.”

Bucky hurries to comply, glad to have something to do with himself other than stand in place under Steve’s scrutiny. He gets up on the bed and scoots to the other side, turning so that he’s facing away from Steve, his left side tucked down against the bed. He expects Steve to sidle up behind him, so he’s taken aback when Steve pulls on his shoulder to turn him over. He climbs over Bucky, settling between his legs. Bucky realizes with a gasp of surprise that Steve is naked, too. He can see all of him, can feel his erection pressing against his hip. Bucky shivers, feeling like a ball of nerves. “I—” he gasps as Steve rolls his hips down once. “Oh! That’s… oh.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. He does it again. “That feel good Sweetheart?”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the name, his cock jerking and hardening next to Steve’s. “Fuck, yes. Don’t call me that.”

Steve’s mouth crashes down on his, bruising and brief. “Open your eyes,” he tells him, voice firm. “Now, Bucky. I want you to look at me.”

Bucky does, blinking up at Steve and his golden hair, his soulful blue eyes. He shivers. “What?” he asks.

Steve is peering down at him keenly. “How do you like it?” he asks. 

Bucky freezes. “I…what?” He doesn’t know what to say. Then, mortifyingly, he figures out that Steve’s referring to sexual positions, is asking Bucky what he prefers. “I just… I dunno,” he mumbles, trying to escape Steve’s scrutiny once again. “Just… whatever you want. Just please be careful, don’t make it, ya know, hurt.” Steve gets very still above him. His hips stop moving and he just stares down. Bucky feels like Steve can read his thoughts, like they’re just printed in large typeface for him to see and know. It makes him want to squirm away. “Steeeve,” he whines, trying to push against Steve’s chest. “I don’t care, just—"

“You’re a virgin,” Steve says, slowly, like he’s trying out he words. Bucky’s wide eyes must confirm it though, because then Steve is huffing in realization. “Christ, Bucky. Why didn’t you say so?”

Bucky scowls up at him. “What the hell difference does it make?”

“Wait a minute.” Steve frowns at him. “But that night at the hotel… you were about to take that guy to your room.”

“Yeah, so what?”

Steve growls, his fingers tightening on Bucky’s arms. “You were going to let some strange alpha take your virginity?!”

Bucky whimpers at Steve’s tone, but he juts his jaw out too, defiant. “Yeah well so what if I was? It’s mine to give away.”

Steve makes a noise of utter frustration. He grinds his face into the pillow besides Bucky’s head, giving a muffled curse. When he pulls back, it’s to fix Bucky with a fierce look. “It _was_ yours to give away,” he corrects. “Not anymore. Now it’s mine.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen in shock, his guts swooping in instinctive pleasure of such a possessive statement coming from his alpha. He immediately shakes his head at the reaction, hating himself for it. “What’re you—hey!” He yelps as Steve pulls away, sits back on his heels and shoves Bucky’s thighs up towards his stomach all in very short order. Bucky is blindsided by the movement, and before he can process what’s happening, Steve is laying down flat on the bed and stuffing his face between Bucky’s legs. Bucky’s eyes go wide. “Steve!”

He’s not sucking his cock, is the thing. “Ohmygod, Steve, stop!”

Steve just grunts and keeps doing what he’s doing, which is licking Bucky’s _ass_. Bucky wheezes out a breath as his tongue flicks against him, the wet slide a strange sensation. “Oh fuck, what the fuck?!” Bucky can’t decide whether he wants to kill Steve for doing this or maybe pull him back up and kiss him. But ew, wait, isn’t that gross? Bucky tosses his head against the pillow, panting and confused as hell as Steve just keeps fucking _lapping_ at his hole, rubbing fingers against the skin behind his balls and making him feel sparks of pleasure in his spine. Bucky alternates between cursing and shoving at Steve’s shoulders, and making mortifying sounds and hoisting his legs up to give him more room for what he’s doing. What the _fuck_ is he doing?! It’s so dirty, so wrong for Steve to put his mouth there. Bucky’s not omega. He shouldn’t enjoy this so much, he shouldn’t!

He just winds up tossing his head and squeezing his eyes shut, groaning and cursing and fucking his ass onto Steve’s tongue. He grabs his cock with his good hand and starts stroking himself, feeling half-sick from how desperate he’s acting, from what he’s letting Steve do to him. _Fuck_ , but he can’t help it. Steve’s tongue against his asshole feels so teasing and good, his pulsing fingers against Bucky’s perineum just adding to it. With Bucky stroking himself off, it’s enough to make him start coming. He cries out, sharp and loud as he spills over his hand, hips bucking up against his fist as he tries to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible. It wanes, though, and by the time Bucky’s letting go of himself, Steve is pulling back from between his legs, sitting up and meeting his eyes. _Jesus fuck_ , but Steve’s eyes are dark. His chin is wet with spit and Bucky can’t help the groan he looses at the sight.

Steve laughs, falling down to lay on top of him again. “Is that so?” he asks. “Did you like that?”

Bucky huffs, still regaining his breath. “Why the hell…” he pants. “ _What_ the hell was that for?”

Steve grins and kisses him. “Did you like it?”

Bucky knows he must be blushing massively as he nods and admits, “Yeah. But—”

“No buts,” Steve says. “That’s just one of a lot of ways I plan to make you feel good, if you let me.”

Bucky blinks up at him, feeling inexperienced and overwhelmed. “Yeah?”

Steve smiles, eyes kind and soft. “Yeah, Buck. You gonna let me do that?” He kisses along his neck. “Gonna let me make love to you?”

Bucky winces, partway because of the phrasing, and partway because Steve’s lips are skimming over the scars that trail up the left side of his neck, kissing over the cragged flesh. “Steve,” he huffs, squirming. “Steve, stop, please.” 

Steve freezes right away, his eyes shooting up. “What’s wrong?” He looks wary, as if he’ll pull away. “Bucky, I’m sorry. If you’re not ready we can—”

Bucky growls, frustrated at Steve’s tender handling of him. This isn’t tender. He doesn’t _want_ it to be tender. He just wants Steve to keep his mouth off his damn scars. “S’nothing,” he says, turning over again so that he’s laying on his side, his lame left arm pressed against the bed and hidden from sight. The bedroom is lit only by the soft glow of a gas lamp, but Bucky still can’t bear the idea of it being seen, let alone _kissed_. “Just… like this,” he excuses, not wanting Steve to sense his dilemma. “You can fuck me like this.”

Steve is slow to respond, as if it’s on the tip of his tongue to refuse and make Bucky say more, but he doesn’t. He sinks down to lay right behind Bucky, pulling him back until he’s against his chest. “Okay,” he says softly, kissing Bucky just behind his ear. “Okay, Sweetheart.”

Bucky grits his teeth at the name but doesn’t say anything. He grabs Steve’s hand in his own and brings it around his belly and down to his cock. “Get me hard again,” he murmurs. 

Steve makes a sound of approval, some of his cautious scent pushed away by the heavier scent of arousal. He nuzzles Bucky’s neck and wraps his fingers around his half-hard and still wet cock. Bucky sighs deeply and focuses on the pleasure of it, trying to forget about everything else—about this marriage and the fact that he’s just signed his life away to the man behind him. He just focuses on the way Steve’s hips are pulsing gently, rubbing his big cock against the swell of Bucky’s ass. He focuses on Steve’s breath against his neck, his big body sealed against his, his fingers curling over his cock in the gentlest pressure. Bucky grows quickly under Steve’s attention, and soon he’s breathing heavily again, cock fully hard and hips humping into the touch Steve gives him. “Oh,” he breathes, well and truly distracted now that the pleasure’s ratcheted up again. “Oh, please.”

Steve chuckles darkly behind him, turned-on and satisfied. “You’re so responsive, Buck.” He licks the side of his neck, nipping him there. “You gonna come twice for me?” 

Bucky nods fast against the pillow. “Yeah. Yes.”

Steve hums, pleased. “Good. I want to see you feeling good, you know that?” He pets a tender hand through Bucky’s hair, the other that he has on his cock continuing its maddening pace.

Bucky grunts, pressing his face into the pillow, trying to escape Steve’s words and his gentle touch. “More,” he begs, though he tries to make it a demand. “Steve, more, please.”

Steve is moving behind him, moving away and then returning and plastering himself along the back of Bucky’s body all over again. Bucky whines in frustration, but then Steve’s shoving a hand between his legs, wet with slick and getting it all over Bucky’s inner thighs. Bucky gasps at the feeling. “Shh,” Steve murmurs, slotting his cock into the wet space between Bucky’s legs and then reaching around with his slicked hand to pick back up where he left off with stroking Bucky’s cock. “S’okay, I gotcha Sweetheart.”

Bucky groans, bleary and blissed-out and too in his head to think of a way to tell Steve to stop being so gentle and to _stop calling him that._ He just stares down at the sight of Steve’s big hand working his cock in firm strokes, and further down; Steve’s swollen cockhead pushing through his legs with every thrust. It’s lewd and it’s gorgeous, and Bucky only has to watch it for a few short moments before he’s coming all over again with a shout.

Steve works him through it, then lets go of his cock and grabs his hips instead, fingers digging in bruisingly as he fucks the space between his legs hard and fast. His breath gets incredibly harsh against Bucky’s neck, and then he’s groaning like he’s been punched, pulsing his hips in tight little motions and coming buckets. Bucky stares down at it, rapt.

Steve collapses against him, cock still buried between his thighs. Bucky makes to move, but Steve growls and holds him fast, clearly not allowing it. Bucky grunts, unable to find it in himself to fight back. He’d lose, anyhow. So he just lays there and lets Steve calm down, lets him grumble his contented alpha sounds, lick and scent at his neck, keep his knot buried between his thighs. Bucky intends to get up eventually. Go into the bathroom and clean up, maybe. But instead he falls asleep.


	3. A Honeymoon, part 1

Except for being trampled by a carriage and almost losing his arm, taking a boat over the Atlantic winds up being the worst experience of Bucky’s life.

It’s neat, at first. Bucky’s never been on a boat and Steve has booked them tickets for a first-class suite on a luxury liner. They drive to the harbor, Steve and Bucky in one car and two of their servants and all the luggage in another. At the docks are a number of newspaper reporters, all standing around and yelling out for a comment. It’s to be expected for a newly-married Senatorial couple such as them, but annoying all the same. Bucky heads straight for the gangplank, ready to just walk-on-by and ignore them completely. It’s been drummed into him since childhood: _never give the press an unauthorized interview_. 

So he’s taken aback when Steve grabs his hand and pulls him over to address the reporters. Bucky looks at Steve with wide eyes, but his husband is already speaking to the nearest photographer, who’s asked them if they’re off for their honeymoon. “Yes,” Steve says, an easy smile gracing his face. 

He’s being friendly to the press, Bucky realizes, and that’s just so odd. It’s certainly unexpected from someone like Steve, who’s a goddamn member of the Senate. Buck bites his lip as he watches Steve talk, looking at his smile, his bright eyes. _He’s so handsome_ , Bucky can’t help but think. And then he averts his eyes, annoyed that he finds him so.

“Captain Rogers!” one of the other reporters is calling out. “Is it Europe then, where you and the Lord Rogers will be travelling?”

“Yes. England, and then we’ll be touring the continent,” Steve says. Several of the other reporters start yelling out more questions, asking for private details about their wedding and plans for the future, but Steve shuts them up with a raised hand. “I’m sorry gentlemen but that’s all. We need to board now.” He directs Bucky back towards the ramp, and it’s with the sounds of still-interested reporters at their backs that they board the ship.

.oOo.

Their staterooms are finely furnished but small. Bucky figures that since they have a sitting room separate from the bedroom, _and_ a private promenade, it must be quite spacious for a ship. The servants put the luggage away, then excuse themselves to settle into their own cabins in second class. That leaves Bucky to wander about and look things over. He pokes his head into the bedroom. There’s a dressing table and a door into a bath. The room has a bed that is clearly meant for two people. It has posts and a canopy and is tucked right against the wall. It looks comfy enough but it’s much, much smaller than Steve’s own bed. Bucky swallows, thinking about how he’ll be sleeping in the cramped bed with Steve for the next eleven days…

“Bucky?”

Bucky steps back out of the room and finds Steve looking at him. “Yeah?”

Steve inclines his head toward the French doors. “Want to see outside?”

Bucky huffs as if put-upon, even though he _does_ want to see, and follows Steve out to the room. It’s nice; light and airy, with large windows that can be opened to let the sea breeze in. Steve flops down on one of the wicker couches and Bucky walks to the windows, sliding one open and looking out. Their staterooms are on the side of the ship that faces the docks, and he observes all the pedestrians moving around on the street below. Some are just passing by, but others have stopped to look up at the ship as all of its passengers and luggage are brought on board. He leans out over the edge of the window, trying to see the side of the ship and the barnacles that might cling near the bottom…

“Bucky!” Steve’s pulling on him roughly to get him back inside the window. He slides it shut and glares at him. “You could have fallen!”

Bucky scowls, jerking away from Steve’s hold. “No I couldn’t,” he snaps. “Jesus, I was just looking. I’m fine. What’s your problem?” He turns and stalks from the promenade, not caring if he’s giving up the enjoyment of the room just to make a point. 

Steve gives him his space after that, telling Bucky he’s going down to arrange their dinner reservations and that he’ll be back in a bit. Bucky waits, intending to just bide his time in the cabin, but there’s really nothing to do and it gets quite boring after only a few minutes. So Bucky decides he’ll explore the ship. He heads out, not unaware that he should probably be waiting for Steve, or at least leaving him a note telling him where he’s going. It’s a big ship, after all. But he ignores the consideration. Steve can figure it out for himself. Bucky’s an adult, and even though he’s his Headship, Steve hadn’t told Bucky to stay put. He smirks as he leaves and takes the lift down thinking about Steve returning to the room to find it empty.

.oOo.

The ship, Bucky concludes, is ridiculous. He stops a steward and asks about what he might see, and the man directs him to several attractions. There’s the day lounge, the smoking lounge, the bar, the library, the gym, the squash courts and the swimming pool. There’s a goddamn Turkish bath, of all things! Bucky can’t imagine what person thought that they needed one of those. God forbid they cross an ocean without the essentials.

It takes a long time to tour most of the ship. At least a couple of hours go by before Bucky makes his way up to the public promenade and sits on a deck chair, tired and ready to people-watch. He’s relaxing, enjoying the busy sounds of the ship and the dockside, when all of a sudden someone down the way is exclaiming,

“ _There_ you are!”

Bucky startles, head turning to see an angry-looking Steve. _Oh_. Bucky tucks his lips in, trying hard not to smile. “Oh, hey Steve.”

Steve comes over and stands there with his hands on his hips, staring down on him. “I’ve been looking for you for over an hour!”

Bucky shrugs. “I went for a walk.”

“A walk?!” Steve huffs. “What on earth was so important that you couldn’t have waited for me to get back?” He glares at him. “I had half a mind that you’d gotten off the ship!”

Bucky laughs out loud at that. Even _he_ wouldn’t literally jump ship to escape his new husband. “You know, I hadn’t thought of that,” he drawls lazily. “It’s an idea though.”

Steve’s face darkens, and he is _not_ amused. Growling, he grabs Bucky by the scruff of his shirt and yanks him up. “Come on,” he says, and his voice is tinted by an alpha’s command. “We’re going back to the room.”

-

“SIT,” Steve says the moment he’s got the door to their suite shut. He points at the sitting room’s couch. “THERE. NOW.”

Bucky gulps. He’s never been on the receiving end of an alpha’s Voice before. Truth be told, he’d always expected that it wouldn’t have much of an effect on him. He’s beta; omegas are the ones who are supposed to be compelled. Well, Bucky thinks, he definitely feels it. Steve’s Voice puts an urge in Bucky’s brain, driving him to walk across the carpet and plant his butt exactly where Steve has just pointed. Bucky looks up at Steve warily. He doesn’t have to do this, he reminds himself, soothing himself with that knowledge. He doesn’t _have_ to obey Steve’s command. …It just feels better if he does. Bucky grits his teeth and tells him, “You don’t have to do that. I’m here. I won’t run away again.”

Steve’s features lift a bit, whether in surprise or relief is unclear. “Okay,” he says, and _yeah_ , it’s relief. He comes to join Bucky on the couch, looking at him earnestly. “I was really worried, Bucky.”

Bucky hates the honest look that’s on Steve’s face right now, hates the hurt pinch of it. It tells him that Steve is a good man, is just concerned for Bucky’s safety. Bucky feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment at having to be scolded, like a child. “Sorry,” he mutters, hoping that it will be enough to quell whatever his husband needs to hear from him.

“Tell me you won’t go running off again,” Steve says. He’s not using his Voice anymore, but his tone is imploring. “On this ship or elsewhere. We’ve got stops planned all over Europe. I won’t be able to relax if I constantly have to worry about you disappearing.”

Bucky frowns. Sure, he’d disappeared for a few hours, and maybe he’d enjoyed the fact that he knew it would annoy Steve, but Bucky _had_ honestly wanted to explore the ship. He tells Steve so, saying, “I just wanted to explore. I won’t run away.”

Steve nods, seemingly satisfied. “Okay. Thank you, Bucky.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels suddenly awkward, sitting on the couch next to Steve—his husband, his _Headship_ , the alpha who not even forty-eight hours ago had him pulled bodily against him, thrusting between his thighs and a hand wrapped around his cock. Bucky swallows at the memory. “I—” he starts, needing to put space between him and the other man. “Steve, I… need to use the bathroom.”

Steve frowns lightly. “Well go ahead. Jeez Buck, you don’t have to ask permission.”

Bucky shoots up from the couch, eager to get away and not entirely sure he can keep himself from flinging out a nasty rebuttal, if he stays much longer.

.oOo.

They dress in tails for dinner in the ship’s finest—and most exclusive—dining hall. Steve leads him in by the arm, all eyes turning to watch them as they enter. Thankfully, everyone else in this part of the ship is just as, or at least nearly as wealthy and important as Steve and Bucky are, so it isn’t long before most of the eyes trail away and their owners return to their previous conversations, two members of minor American royalty of no special note to them. Steve guides Bucky to their table, at which point they are accosted by two people. “Captain Rogers!”

One Bucky recognizes: he’s Henry Mills, youngest son of Senator Mills of New Jersey—a man who used to be Bucky’s father’s counterpart. _You’re the lord of nothing!_ Winnie’s voice snaps in Bucky’s head. He blushes, embarrassed to have to stand in the company of his old schoolmate. He’s sure Henry must be thinking about House Barnes’ sad status, as word has gotten round to the more important families of society by now. Soon enough it’ll be in the papers. Bucky cringes at the thought.

Steve starts up a stilted conversation of pleasantries with the alpha who introduces himself as Henry’s husband—Lord Jamison, Senator of Ohio. Henry is omega and a younger son—two very simple reasons why he was never going to inherit his father’s title—but even still, Bucky thinks dejectedly how the two of them have ended up in very much the same place; married to alpha senators to maintain their positions in Society. The only difference between them is their designation, and it’s glaring. Henry’s stomach is noticeable beneath his jacket. He’s pregnant. 

“Yes,” Jamison is saying. “We’re very excited to be starting a family.” He wraps his arm possessively around Henry’s waist, drawing him closer against his side. “And we’re thinking we may have found our third. A beta from Maine. She’s just a daughter of one of the elected, but even still, she’s a very nice girl. Don’t you think sweetheart?”

Henry nods, one hand migrating to his stomach as he gazes up at his husband in near-adoration. “Yes,” he says. “It’s been a wonderful first year. We’re very fortunate.” He turns his attention to Bucky and Steve, saying, “You must be looking forward to setting up your Household, when you get back.” 

It’s framed as a question, and since it’s clearly been aimed at Bucky, he feels compelled to answer, “Um, yes?” It’s a terribly awkward answer, and the uncomfortable silence that follows it makes Bucky want to shrink away. Henry’s so obviously in love with his Headship and Bucky just… is not. He feels guilty for making it so obvious. _Hadn’t they come here to eat dinner?_ He doubts he’ll have much of an appetite, after this. He _has_ been feeling a tad bit queasy since the ship departed that afternoon, and he desperately hopes that he won’t be prone to seasickness. “We’re moving into Steve’s brownstone,” he says, trying to offer something useful to the conversation. “It’s in Brooklyn.”

Jamison gasps. “Oh, how terribly chic of you. Such an eclectic place.” ‘ _Eclectic_ ’, Bucky knows, is just a euphemism for ‘common’. “You’ll have a lot to see there,” the alpha concludes. “I’ve heard they’re gentrifying some of the neighborhoods.”

Bucky looks to Steve, who is smiling a fake smile with tight eyes. “Yes, it’s nice. My favorite of all our residences.”

All _our_ residences? Bucky thinks. _All_ our residences? He tries to reign in his reaction. He hadn’t known that Steve owned more than one property, though it does make sense, given his wealth. He makes a mental note to ask Steve later about where the other houses are. 

“Well, we really must take our seats,” Steve excuses. “I think I’ve seen our waiter divert himself twice, now.” He chuckles, and even that is fake, though Bucky isn’t sure the Jamisons can tell. “Gentlemen,” Steve says, and the couple nods a polite goodbye. Steve waits until they’ve stepped away before he guides Bucky to sit at their table. “They seem nice,” he says, unfolding his napkin and placing it in his lap. Bucky follows suit.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

The waiter arrives and asks Steve what they’ll have. He doesn’t ask Bucky, as it’s traditional for the Headship to order for their spouses. Bucky is annoyed, but not surprised. He speaks up right after Steve’s asked for lobster and before he can order for Bucky. “I’ll have the duck à l’orange,” he says. 

The waiter seems tense for a moment, eyes flicking to Steve to assess his reaction. Steve gives a slight nod, and the waiter relaxes. “Very good Sir. I’ll tell the chef.” He turns and walks on to the next table, where Bucky can see one of the lower Princesses of England is seated. 

“You don’t mind, do you Steve?” he asks sweetly, waiting for his husband to scold him for the embarrassment. But it doesn’t come.

“No, I don’t,” Steve says, smiling slightly when Bucky looks at him with surprise. “I’m pretty relaxed when it comes to matters of protocol.”

“Oh?”

Steve nods. “When it concerns just the two of us or our third, yes.” He looks at Bucky pointedly. “But in company I’ll expect you to mind yourself. Understood?”

Bucky wants so badly to say that no, it’s not _understood_ , but that would be embarrassingly childish, even for him, so he reigns himself in. “Yes,” he says.

“Good.”

They sit in silence for a moment before Bucky remembers to ask, “Where are your residences?”

Steve looks surprised for a moment, and then he looks at Bucky tenderly. “Well for one, they’re _our_ houses now, seeing as we’re married. And they’re in Brooklyn, Manhattan, the Hamptons, Washington D.C., London and Paris. The London, Paris and Manhattan residences are only apartments, but they’re sizeable. I especially enjoy the Paris one. We’ll be staying there for part of the trip.”

Bucky keeps his face neutral, but internally he’s impressed. House Barnes has only ever kept residences in Paramus and Washington D.C. Ruefully, he thinks of how his mother and sisters will likely be forced to move to a different house, now that their Senatorial status is about to be revoked, the only thing keeping them in Society being Bucky’s marriage to Steve. For that, he _is_ grateful. He nods and fiddles with his silverware. “That’s nice,” he says. 

Steve smiles. “Have you ever been to France?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. I’ve um, I went with my father to a state dinner in London once, when I was introduced to Society, but it was brief. We didn’t go to the continent.”

“I see. Well I think you’ll enjoy yourself on our trip. I’m looking forward to showing you the sights.”

Bucky nods, not disagreeing but silent on the matter. Secretly, he’s been kind of excited to go on this honeymoon with Steve. He’s never traveled much, and touring Europe with a gorgeous Alpha is hardly a hardship. The only catch being that Bucky is married to him. 

Their meal arrives before too long, and Bucky is able to distract himself with the food. He drinks the wine that the sommelier suggests—a floral red that compliments the duck—and is pleased when Steve doesn’t protest his request of a second glass. Dessert is a rich chocolate cake, and Bucky nearly moans by the time he’s enjoying the last bite. When he finishes and looks up, Steve is looking at him with a mixture of amusement and desire. Bucky can smell the latter on him. He blushes. “Um, do you want to get after dinner drinks?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’ve had enough. Let’s go back to the room.”

Bucky swallows, nodding meekly and standing to take Steve’s offered arm. He thinks about what they’re going to do when they get back to their quarters. Will Steve undress him? Expect to have sex? Bucky’s thoughts drift back to their first night together; how Steve had handled him gently, made him come… 

…Before he knows it, they’re back in the room. 

.oOo.

Steve leads him into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Bucky looks expectantly at him. “Are we going to…” he swallows, unable to keep from glancing at the bed. 

Steve must sense his unease, because he steps forward and holds Bucky at the waist. “Only if you want to,” he says gently. He leans in and presses a light kiss to his mouth. “Do you?”

Bucky feels slightly dazed when Steve pulls back from the kiss too soon. He blinks up at him, taking in his look of arousal, the eager smell of him. Bucky nods. “Okay.”

That’s all it takes. In the next second Steve is dipping in again, his hands sliding up Bucky’s back to hold him closer as he connects their mouths in another kiss. Only this time it’s deeper, more sensual; Steve’s mouth taking his in a slower, purposeful motion. Bucky moans into it, feeling a stir of arousal start up in him. Perhaps Steve can smell it, or perhaps it’s just the moan, but either way he hums into the kiss and swipes out with his tongue, requesting entrance into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky gives it.

When Steve moves them over to the bed, he holds Bucky’s gaze firmly for a long second, before reaching for the shoulders of his jacket. They’re still dressed in tuxes from dinner, which means it’ll take time for Steve to… Bucky inhales heavily through his nose but remains calm as Steve slides the jacket down his arms. It falls to the floor, forgotten. Steve moves slowly and obviously from there, showcasing his intent. Bucky makes no move to stop him as he loosens both of their bowties, the fabric falling to the floor as both of their shirt collars pop free. Steve smiles at him, inhaling and probably noticing Bucky doing the same. His pupils are dilated. Their bared necks have allowed both of their scents to burst free. Steve’s is stronger, Bucky’s nothing but a slight thing, but it’s there, and Steve can obviously smell it. He… he seems to like it. “Bucky,” Steve says. “ _God_ , you smell—”

“So good,” Bucky finishes, voice quiet. He nods. “You do.” He takes a cautious step forward, so close to Steve that their chests touch. He wants to scent Steve, and even though he’s pretty sure the alpha can tell that just by the way he’s looking at him, Bucky asks, “Alpha, can I…”

“Go on,” Steve croaks, voice heavy with arousal. “Ask for what you want, Beta.”

Bucky blushes madly. He’s never reveled much in his designation. Nobody craves a beta, no one has a biological need for one. That’s why the thirds in marriages are almost always betas. They’re unnecessary; an afterthought. But the way that Steve speaks to him, the way that he looks at him darkly and calls him his Beta, well… Bucky does _not_ feel like an afterthought. He feels wanted.

Steve tilts his head to the side in an open show of trust. Bucky’s stomach flips at the sight—his Alpha baring his throat for him to take. Bucky moans quietly. He dips in and takes the permission that’s been granted, pressing his mouth against Steve’s neck, dragging his lips up and down the skin and licking lightly. He rubs his nose under the hinge of his jaw, behind his ear. It’s just as much about the intimate gesture as it is about scent itself.

Nobody but lovers do this, which means…

A rumble starts up in Steve’s chest, hardly noticeable at first. Bucky feels it more than he hears it; an alpha’s pleased growl. _That_ arouses him too. He pulls back and looks in Steve’s eyes, whining in his throat and tipping his head to the side so that Steve can scent him as well. Steve grunts and quickly presses his face against Bucky’s neck, breath huffing against his skin as he takes him in. “I didn’t think it was—” Bucky starts, but cuts off in a sigh at the nip Steve gives him. “Do you, do you like it? Does it feel good?” He has no way of knowing just how much this does for Steve. Bucky’s not sensitive like he is, doesn’t respond to it in the same way. Pheromones are for alphas and omegas, not betas. Under his skin, the glands in Bucky’s neck will never be prominent enough for a mating bite, never enough to put out the sort of scent that an omega can.

But Steve is acting like he can smell Bucky just fine, gripping him by the upper arms and groaning like he’s turned-on. “Yes,” he whispers against Bucky’s skin. “You’re perfect, Bucky.” He leaves one last kiss on his neck, then pulls back. His hands move for the next task: Bucky’s shirt. “Okay?” he checks.

Bucky nods. “Y-yeah,” he murmurs, voice shy. He forces himself to hold still, trying not to shiver in anticipation as Steve unbuttons his shirt and pulls it off him. He pulls off his undershirt as well, encouraging Bucky to lift his arms in the process. Half-naked, Bucky feels a wave of self-consciousness roll over him. _Oh, his arm_. He’d nearly forgotten about it. Breath quickening, he moves to turn away, tries to tuck that side of himself out of Steve’s sight. But Steve growls and stops him, holding him still by the shoulders. Bucky whimpers. “S-steve—”

“Shh,” Steve says, and his eyes are already on him, tracking down his body and over his chest, down to his belly and then back up to his shoulders, down his left arm. His eyes go tender as he looks at it, and Bucky doesn’t know how to handle that. It doesn’t _look_ like disgust on Steve’s face, but— “How did it happen?” Steve asks softly “Hm?” He strokes up and down the top of Bucky’s arm, fingertips playing against the mottled skin there. “Bucky?” He kisses his neck—the scarred side—and tells him, “You don’t have to be scared. Please, tell me.” He kisses the scars, and Bucky gasps.

“It was an accident,” he says, forcing it out in one breath because he has to, because he doesn’t want to say it but he wants to make Steve happy. “In the winter. I was walking alongside the road and a carriage was coming. I didn’t see the ice. I slipped and fell into the road, and they didn’t have time to stop.” Bucky turns his head away from where Steve’s keen eyes are sweeping over the wreckage of what used to be a useful arm. “It’s just in the way, now,” he says. “Ugly.”

 _That_ , Bucky quickly finds, is the wrong thing to say. Steve growls, and this time it’s angry. He nips punishingly at Bucky’s neck and yanks him in hard by the hips. Bucky gasps in surprise, hands flying up to hold onto Steve’s shoulders. He looks at him with wide eyes. They’re together now, full-body. Bucky can feel Steve’s erection through their pants. He’s certain Steve can feel his.

“I’ll excuse that, since you’re young and stupid,” he says. Bucky’s about to squawk in protest, but before he can Steve is continuing. “Let me tell you a little about your body, Beta.” His voice is still a growl but more controlled this time. He’s speaking into Bucky’s ear, low and forceful. “You’re so perfectly built, you know that? Your body? It’s gorgeous, lean and strong.” He runs both hands up and down the length of Bucky’s upper arms. “Just enough muscle to make you absolutely, unavoidably _male_.” Bucky whimpers and Steve nods. “Yeah. I like that. You’re sexy as hell. I can’t wait to get you naked and see all of you again.”

 _God_. Suddenly, the image of Steve’s face buried between his legs flashes through Bucky’s mind. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, whining at Steve’s insistent words. But Steve just chuckles and kisses him, telling him more.

“You’ve got a pretty face, but I can tell that you know that. You’re confident, popular. I’ve heard enough stories of how your dance cards never have space.” 

_Not true anymore_ Bucky thinks. 

“Your lips, I think, are the best part. Or maybe your eyes…” Steve sighs as if put-upon. “It’s so hard to choose.” He runs a hand up the center of Bucky’s back, warm and soothing. “And I absolutely love your hair.” 

Bucky knows he keeps his hair longer than is the fashion, but he doesn’t care. It grew out during his convalescence following the accident, and he’s gotten used to it. “You do?” he asks, starting to believe Steve in all he’s saying. He definitely knows that _Steve_ believes it. “Steve?” Bucky asks again, hesitant and yet so, so eager. “You… you like the way I look?”

Steve nods. He pulls back enough so that Bucky can see his eyes, can see that he means it. “Yes. I want to see all of it.” His hands go to the front of Bucky’s trousers, fingers poised to undo the buttons there. He waits, and Bucky nods. Steve’s face splits into a grin and he says, “Good choice.” He peels the pants off Bucky, letting them drop to the floor. He’s staring at Bucky’s underwear, looking straight at where his cock is swollen, pressing against the fabric in an obvious bulge. Steve makes a debased sort of noise that lets Bucky know the alpha is very, very turned-on. “Christ, Bucky,” he says, trailing off as he seems to lose his words, eyes flitting about. He reaches forward, pauses, pulls his hand back. He looks up and tells him. “Take your underwear off.”

The command isn’t in Steve’s Voice, but it still has the same effect. Bucky feels something in his gut tug, urging him to do as Steve says. He should be good for his Headship, needs to hear that low, rumbling sound of approval again. So he shucks his underwear off with hardly a thought. His cock hangs, heavy and flushed between his legs, and Bucky spares a glance downwards at it before looking back up to Steve. Steve, who’s staring right at him. Bucky blushes and moves to cover himself.

Steve growls, stepping forward and yanking Bucky’s wrists to the side. “Don’t hide yourself from me,” he says. “Not ever.” When Bucky whimpers at his tone, Steve tips his chin up to look at him. “Hey, Buck?”

Bucky sucks his lip in nervously. “Mm?”

“Don’t, okay?” Steve’s big hand cups his jaw tenderly, his eyes roving over his face. “Don’t hide. I love looking at you, and I’ll never hurt you, okay?”

Bucky gulps. He can tell that his husband is trying hard to be open with him, to make him feel better. Bucky doesn’t know if he ever will feel entirely comfortable when he’s bared like this in front of Steve, but he can at least be appreciative of his husband’s efforts. “Yeah,” he breathes, bringing his hands up to Steve’s chest. “Okay.”

Steve kisses him, slotting their mouths together slow and gentle. Bucky hums into it, enjoying the feeling of Steve’s lips, his tongue, his hands pulling him in at his lower back. When they separate, Bucky’s panting. He reaches for the lapels of Steve’s jacket, trying to push it down over his shoulders. Steve see this and helps him along, shrugging the jacket off and then making quick work of his shirt and all the rest. When he’s fully bared, Bucky feels his face burning. He’d seen Steve on their wedding night, of course, but not like this; not with the lights on and the both of them standing right in front of each other. Bucky tries not to look, but his eyes are drawn back again and again. 

Steve’s body is large and strong and perfect. His broad shoulders contrast with the slim taper of his waist and hips. His _chest_ is so incredibly muscled—smooth and firm-looking. Bucky has to curl his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out and placing his palms right over him. His eyes go lower. The hair that starts just beneath Steve’s navel leads down in a trail to his cock, where there’s _more_ hair and… wow.

Steve is hard; his length hanging thickly between his legs, the loose skin of his knot swollen but not entirely-filled yet, and the heavy weight of his balls resting just underneath. He’s clearly aroused, the pink head of his cock pushing past the foreskin all shiny with precome. And _god,_ but it makes Bucky’s belly flip to see it. He’s never had the urge to get on his knees for someone before, but he feels it now. It makes him blush, the way he responds to it—between his own legs, he gets a little bit harder.

“Bucky?”

Bucky gasps. His eyes fly up and he swallows down the embarrassment he feels enough to say, “Hm?”

“Are you okay?” Steve asks. He’s looking at Bucky gently, as if he’s ready to be concerned. He comes forward and pulls Bucky into his arms, cradles the back of his head to encourage him to lay his cheek against his chest. Bucky does so with a huge puff of breath, and Steve hums. “You nervous?”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. “Yeah. I guess.”

Steve strokes his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin, the other night?”

Bucky makes a despondent sound between his teeth, but he doesn’t pull away. He likes being able to hide his face against Steve’s body. “Didn’t matter,” he mumbles. “Everybody expects us to be ‘pure’ anyways.” Not so much betas as omegas, but it’s still pretty standard for alphas in Society to expect their spouses to come into their marriages untouched. 

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice is unhappy. “I wouldn’t care either way, but you should have said something. What if I’d hurt you? What if it—” he cuts himself off, then says quietly, “Your first time should be special.”

Bucky grits his teeth. He wishes Steve wouldn’t keep talking about this. Between his legs, his getting soft. “Doesn’t matter,” he repeats. “Wasn’t like I didn’t want to have sex. I did. My being a virgin, well… let’s just say it wasn’t for lack of trying.”

Steve stills in his petting. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Bucky shrugs. “I mean you saw my arm. Nobody wants that.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Soon as the clothes came off, anybody who had interest would run.” Bucky feels like dirt as he admits it, but it’s not as if he doesn’t know that the wreckage of his arm is god-awful ugly. “I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, with you,” he says. “I just wanted to get it over with.” Steve’s scent sours and a growl of discontent rumbles in his chest. Bucky pulls back to look at him warily. “Are you mad?”

Steve shakes his head. "I'm _sad_ , Bucky. Sex isn’t something you should ever want to ‘get over with’.” He runs his hands up and down the skin of his back. “Your body isn’t ugly to me, and I wish I’d known you were thinking these things before I slept with you the other night.”

 _Oh_ , that makes Bucky’s heart warm a little bit. The way Steve looks at him, or the way he talks to him sometimes… it’s nice. “S’okay,” he murmurs, not sure what else to say. Tentatively, he leans in and places a kiss to Steve’s mouth. This is something, at least, that he does have experience with. He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and moans encouragingly when Steve tugs him closer by the hips. When he’s brave enough to swipe out with his tongue, Steve lets him right in. 

“Mm,” Steve hums when they part, hooded eyes slowly opening to meet Bucky’s. “You want to get on the bed, Sweetheart?”

The tug of annoyance that comes at Steve’s usage of that name is much, much less than it’d been on their wedding night. Bucky doesn’t say anything about how odd he finds the endearment, he just nods and goes to climb up on the stateroom’s tiny bed. He becomes aware of his nudity all over again as he moves, feels like Steve’s eyes are burning into him the whole time, so he’s relieved when the alpha joins him on the bed and sidles up close to him. Bucky parts his legs in invitation and Steve takes it, coming to rest over him. Bucky swallows as he looks up at Steve’s face, feels his erection pressing against his belly and smells his desire. “Are you gonna,” he starts, not knowing how to phrase the question without mortifying himself. He blushes and avert his eyes. “Are you gonna… be inside me?” He says those last words so silently, it’s a wonder Steve even hears him. 

He dips down and starts kissing Bucky’s jaw, his neck. “Yes, Buck,” he says. His hips are moving in little pulses, rubbing his cock against Bucky’s stomach. Bucky isn’t even sure if he knows he’s doing it. “If you’ll let me. Only if you want to.” He comes back, kisses Bucky on the mouth. “I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Bucky feels some of the trepidation slide away at Steve’s words. He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to. Steve is a kind Headship; even when it’s his right to demand anything he’d like of Bucky, he’s giving him the choice. Bucky’s heart warms even as his body relaxes. “Oh,” he sighs, letting his eyes slip closed as Steve goes back to kissing at his neck. His hand envelops Bucky’s erection, and the next thing he knows, Steve is stroking him off. Bucky’s lips part in a quiet moan at how good it feels. “Oh, ooh, uh.” Small, breathy noises of pleasure leave him without his permission. Steve seems to like it, if his answering groans are anything to go by. Bucky can feel where Steve’s thick cock is grinding in against his hip. He glances down between their bodies to see it, guts swooping in pleasure at the size of Steve’s cock, flushed red and right next to Bucky’s smaller cock in Steve’s hand. “Oh, fuck,” Bucky huffs, thrusting up into Steve’s grip and bringing his knees up to cradle Steve’s hips. 

“That’s it,” Steve says encouragingly, voice like gravel, and it hits Bucky hard, how much he likes that. 

“Alpha,” he gasps, the word leaving his lips before he even realizing what it is he’s saying. “I—please.” He doesn’t want him to stop. He wants him closer, heavier, _more_. Bucky’s eyes fly open. “ _Steve_ ,”

“What is it Sweetheart?” His hand stops stroking and Bucky whines in displeasure.

He squirms underneath him, pushing his hips up against Steve and saying, “I do want to. I want you to.” It feels like a surrender, to say it out loud, but Steve smiles at him and tells him okay, and that he’s good, and Bucky’s embarrassment falls away again. Steve gets lubricant and uses it to slick his fingers before he puts them inside Bucky, and it’s something new; completely foreign and not entirely pleasurable. But Bucky bites his lip and forces himself to remain calm as Steve slowly rocks one finger, and then two, into him. When his fingers curl and touch something good, the pleasure spikes in Bucky’s gut and he moans louder than before. He humps down on the fingers Steve’s got inside of him, eyes flying down in surprise. “Oh!”

“Feel good?”

Bucky nods fast. “Y-yeah,” he stutters. He’s heard enough bawdy stories from boys at school to know what Steve must be touching, but he’d never thought… “Never thought it could feel this good,” he whispers. 

Steve hums, pleased. He thrusts his fingers harder, curling purposefully over that spot. “I told you Buck, I’ll always make you feel good.” He kisses him. “I promise.” When Steve puts the head of his cock against Bucky’s hole and starts to push in, Bucky gasps at the pain and holds on to Steve’s promise like a lifeline. “Shh,” Steve soothes him, sliding in slow and then holding still. He parts Bucky’s lips with his own and distracts him with the wet heat of a kiss, dipping in with his tongue and then coaxing Bucky to do the same. After a few moments, Bucky has relaxed and Steve looks at him with a smile. “See? You’re okay.” He thrusts his hips just the tiniest bit, and Bucky is shocked at the way it feels. Not pain but—

“Ohmygod,” he gasps. “ _Oh_ , Steve.”

Steve grunts and sits back on his heels. He pushes Bucky’s legs towards his chest and thrusts in again, only this time it’s even better and Bucky cries out sharply. Steve grins and start rolling his hips in that same way, creating a steady rhythm that gets the coil of pleasure in Bucky’s spine to get tighter and tighter. He grunts and groans as Steve fucks him, forgetting to be embarrassed of the sounds he’s making. Steve is making noises too, and frankly, Bucky finds them hot as hell. He grips onto the backs of Steve’s arms and wraps his legs around his waist to give him room to go harder, deeper. All the while he stares up at the alpha, watching the unbearably arousing sight of his husband getting off inside his body. 

When Steve gets close, he starts to lose his rhythm. His breathing gets louder and he suddenly reaches down to grasp Bucky’s cock, jerking him off frantically to get him to come. It doesn’t take but a few seconds. Bucky was already close to begin with, and Steve’s big hand squeezing hard over his length is more than enough to push him over the edge. He shouts as he comes, spilling over Steve’s hand and onto his stomach. Steve works him through it, then abandons his cock to chase his own pleasure. He ruts into Bucky harder for a few moments, and then he’s coming. He stays in Bucky’s body but knots outside. Bucky can feel his hand as he reaches down to squeeze himself rhythmically, like an omega’s body would do. That would make Bucky burn with embarrassment and shame, that he couldn’t give that to Steve, except for that Steve also stuffs his face into Bucky’s neck and bites him there, kissing and panting out little ‘ _thankyou_ ’s every chance he gets. As if Bucky's given him a gift.

He continues rocking their bodies together for a long time after he’s come, only stopping when his cock slips out. Bucky inhales sharply at the feeling of sudden emptiness, and then the feeling of Steve’s seed as it starts to trickle out of his ass. He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it, however, because soon Steve is shifting them around and pulling Bucky against his side, encouraging him to lay his head on his chest. After a brief moment of hesitation, Bucky does. And it feels nice to be cradled up against Steve’s warm, strong body, the smell of sex and satiation all around them.

“You’re so beautiful, Bucky,” Steve tells him. “So sexy. Thank you. Thank you for letting me have you.”

Bucky manages to mumble something appreciative, but keeps quiet after that, hiding his face against Steve’s chest and feigning sleep. He can’t say it, but he also can’t help but to like the way that Steve’s praise makes him feel. He’s never been looked at like this, has never been touched like Steve’s just touched him. After a long time, when he’s pretty sure that Steve has drifted off, he dares to whisper, “I never thought I’d do this. Not this soon. …I’m only seventeen.” A moment goes by, and then Steve’s arm that’s around his waist tightens in a squeeze. Bucky gasps, cheeks burning at the realization that Steve’s heard him. “I—”

“It’s okay, Buck,” he says. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to have doubts, fears. I know this isn’t perfect. I know you didn’t want any of this so soon.” He strokes his back soothingly. “I’m your husband, your Headship, and I promise I’ll take care of you. Anything I can do to make you happy, I will. I _want_ you to be happy.”

Bucky feels like he’s holding his breath as Steve speaks to him. The ‘Headship’ part rankles his nerves, but the sated feeling in his body and the memory of the pleasure Steve has just given him—when he _made love_ to him, because that’s all it can be called—keeps him from saying anything disagreeable. Instead he just hums against the skin of Steve’s chest and closes his eyes. He thinks about how he at least has a husband who wants to _try_ and please him. …And who’s really good in the bedroom. Bucky’s lips quirk as he thinks of that, and he murmurs out a soft “Night, Steve,” as he closes his eyes.

Steve’s kiss to the top of his head is barely felt. “Goodnight Bucky.”


	4. A Honeymoon, part 2

Bucky wakes up early the next morning to find Steve still sleeping next to him. He spends a moment appreciating his husband’s face. Steve looks younger in his sleep, the aging set of responsibility gone from his features, maybe. For the first time, it occurs to Bucky that Steve may have been through a lot in his life. He is older than Bucky, after all. And he’s been in the military. A Captain. There’d been a war. It’s been over for a year now, but maybe Steve had seen battle. Maybe too much. Bucky swallows, realizing that he actually knows very little about his husband.

It’s bizarre to be in bed with a near-stranger, to know he’s married and has now been intimate with Steve. Bucky takes a deep breath and carefully untangles himself from under the alpha’s heavy arm. Steve doesn’t stir, and Bucky goes into the tiny bathroom of their suite. He fills the tub and washes himself while running over the night before in his mind. He blushes as he thinks about it, feeling unsure about how vulnerable he’d let himself be. Steve is an okay man so far, but Bucky doesn’t like being at anyone’s mercy. By the very nature of him being Steve’s Beta, he’s exactly that. Steve has absolute authority in their marriage, and it rankles Bucky’s nerve every time he manages to remember that. Just because Steve hasn’t humiliated him yet doesn’t mean he won’t. 

A soft knock comes on the bathroom door. “Bucky?” 

Steve’s voice, of course. “Yeah?” Bucky says.

“Are you alright?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Steve. I’m fine.”

There’s a long pause before Steve opens the door the tiniest bit. He peeks in at Bucky. Bucky scowls. “Sorry,” Steve murmurs. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“I’m just bathing.” The response isn’t as nice as it could be, but Bucky pushes the guilt over that away.

“Yeah.” Steve’s eyes flick up and down Bucky’s body in the tub, taking him in. “Are you alright?”

Bucky grunts and nods, unable to help the heat that collects in his face. He knows Steve is asking about last night, about whether Bucky is physically okay after their lovemaking. “I’m fine,” he says, wishing that Steve would close the door and leave him alone. “Just… I’ll be out in a minute, okay?”

Steve looks at him for another minute, then nods. “Okay. We’ll get dressed for breakfast.”

“Sure.”

Steve leaves him and Bucky sighs and dunks his head under the water, feeling at odds with… everything.

-

As they get dressed, Steve reminds Bucky that he should wear his wristbands. Bucky freezes where he’s doing the cufflinks of his shirt. “I—oh.” He hadn’t even thought of it. He glances to the bedside table where they lay. He realizes that he hasn’t worn them in… days. “I forgot,” he says quietly. Steve doesn’t seem mad. He nods and comes over to help Bucky with the remaining cufflink, deft fingers attaching it with little trouble. Bucky can smell the cologne on him, from this distance. He peeks up at Steve as he finishes, smoothing the sleeve’s cuff. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“You’re welcome.” Steve brings the wrist bands over and slides them on, one and then the other. He clicks them shut in the back, the tiny ‘snick’ of the clasp somehow intimate between them. Bucky stares at them.

They’re simple; matte black, metal, about an inch wide. When Steve had first put them on him at their wedding, Bucky had been surprised that someone as rich and prominent in society as Steve would choose bands so simple. Now, Bucky licks his lips and says, “Gold is more in fashion.” It comes out sounding more like a question than a statement, and Steve chuckles.

“Yes, it is. But I didn’t peg you as a gold sort of guy, or a trend-follower.” He raises an eyebrow at Bucky. “You don’t like them?”

“No, it’s not that. I… I do like them,” Bucky hedges. It’s not that he doesn’t like the way they look. He does. They’re attractive, something Bucky might have chosen for himself one day. But it’s the ‘one day’ part that matters. The bands feel heavier than they are, weighing Bucky’s wrists down with the ownership that they represent. He knows he has to wear them. Being seen in public with bare wrists would be a huge impropriety on Bucky’s part, and shameful on Steve’s. Bucky’s honestly surprised that Steve hasn’t said anything until now. “They’re fine,” he finishes, not wanting to talk about it anymore. 

Steve seems to sense this, as he gives Bucky’s hands a squeeze and then drops them. “Come on,” he says, “Let’s go to breakfast. I’m famished.”

-

The ship serves first class passengers their breakfast in a different dining room than dinner. It’s on a higher deck, in a room that has lots of windows to let in the light. Bucky likes the room, but he’s felt mildly queasy since he got out of the hot bathwater that morning. He’s hopeful that a good meal will fix that. This time when a server comes to take their order, Bucky doesn’t bother speaking up for himself. Steve orders for the both of them as is expected and Bucky just looks about the dining room. 

Henry Mills and his alpha are seated not too far away. Bucky nods at Henry when the omega smiles at him in greeting. The server brings plates of food and sets them on the table, and Bucky reaches for the toast. It’s as he’s spreading butter on the bread that he looks up and catches Steve looking across the room. Bucky follows his gaze. He frowns. Steve is staring at a young man who’s seated several tables away. Bucky deduces he must be an unmarried omega, if his size and attire are anything to go by. There is no collar around his throat, the neckline of his shirt high and modest instead. He’s sitting with a triad that most likely are his parents. Bucky bites his lip, glancing back to Steve, then back to the omega. The young man is… very attractive. He’s delicate, fine-boned but with a strong face. Blond-haired and blue-eyed. Bucky himself would have noticed him in any ballroom, likely asked for space on his card, even.

But something about catching Steve looking at the omega has Bucky’s stomach tying into knots. Steve’s looked at Bucky with obvious interest like that before. It’s disquieting to see him look at another in the same way. Bucky huffs and looks down, goes back to buttering his toast. He can’t keep himself from glancing over to Henry Mills and his husband again, watching the obvious love between the two—an alpha and his happy, pregnant omega. 

Bucky scowls. “So when do you think you’ll start looking for our third?” he asks tightly, completely aware of how this makes Steve’s eyes rip back to their table and to Bucky.

“What?” Steve looks surprised. “Our… our third?”

“Yeah.” Bucky chews a bite of toast, trying to ignore the queasiness in his stomach as he swallows. “That fellow over there is pretty.”

Steve follows his gaze back to the omega, several tables over. He sighs and turns back to Bucky. “I suppose,” he says.

“Well? Are we going to socialize with that in mind while we’re on our trip?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. We _just_ got married.”

Bucky shrugs. “So? Every triad needs their omega. Every alpha does.”

“And you think I’ll just go ahead and pick someone?” 

“It’s your right as Headship.”

Steve groans. “Bucky, stop. I’ve got no intention of marrying anyone else any time soon, least of all a European, and certainly not without your consent.” He reaches across the table and takes Bucky’s hand—his lame one. Bucky’s eyes flick up. Steve is smiling at him. “You’re about all I can handle for right now,” he jokes.

Bucky scowls and pulls his hand back. “If you say so.”

Steve’s features stiffen, losing their playfulness. “I do say so.” He sets in to eating his breakfast, and Bucky forces himself not to say anything else and instead focuses on choking down some fruit and eggs.

-

Choking down _anything_ turns out to be a mistake. Bucky upchucks all across the breakfast spread not thirty minutes later, and a mortified Steve has to make apologies to the wait staff before helping Bucky back to their state room. Bucky collapses on the drawing room’s settee once they’re alone, feeling cold sweat beading on his brow. “Shit,” he curses. “Do you think it was the smoked salmon? I think it was the salmon.” He’s never eating cold fish for breakfast again. 

Steve is coming over from the door and seating himself on a chair near Bucky. He looks concerned. “You barely ate, so no. I think you’re seasick, Sweetheart.” Unlike the previous times Steve’s called him that, this time there’s more wryness to it than anything else. Steve looks him up and down. “You need to rest. I’ll have the servants bring Dramamine.” 

“I thought this sort of thing happened the first day,” Bucky complains. “Shouldn’t I have my sea legs by now?”

Steve laughs. He gets up and walks over to the room’s sideboard and pours a glass of water, bringing it back over for Bucky. “As someone who’s spent more than his fair share of time on naval ships, I can tell you that that is absolutely not true.” He raises an eyebrow at Bucky. “I think I spent half of my first commission throwing up.” 

“Never mind that this is a luxury liner and not some pirate ship.”

The edges of Steve’s mouth twitch up. “I’ve never been called a pirate before.” Bucky scowls and looks away, focusing on drinking the water Steve’s given him. He hadn’t been trying to make the alpha laugh. “Don’t drink it too fast,” Steve warns. Bucky rolls his eyes. He does drink the water more slowly, though.

-

The fact that it’s a luxury liner they’re travelling on obviously doesn’t make any difference. Despite the fact that Bucky can’t actually _feel_ any waves or motion of the ship at all, he still spends the next two days being sick as a dog. Hardly anything sounds appealing to eat, and he certainly can’t bring himself to leave the cabin. 

It’s as Bucky’s flushing the toilet from his latest bout of sickness that Steve returns to their quarters. He knocks on the door frame and peeks into the bathroom. Bucky catches his gaze in the mirror, turning on the faucet to splash water on his face. “M’fine,” he mumbles, knowing from the tight, pinched look on Steve’s face that he’s worried. “I’ll be right out.”

When he comes back out into the bedroom, he smells the sour tinge of Steve’s concern filling the room. Bucky wrinkles his nose. “I said I’m fine,” he repeats, though he doesn’t fight it as Steve takes him by the shoulders and leads him back into the bed. “Ugh,” Bucky huffs, feeling tired and pathetic. “Some trip this is turning out to be.”

“Sit,” Steve says. He helps Bucky get propped up with some pillows before he goes and retrieves a steaming bowl of broth that he’s brought. 

Bucky eyes it warily. “M’not hungry.”

“The ship’s cook said this should be very easy to keep down. You need to eat something.” 

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. Steve is bringing the bowl over anyway. “I just need to lie down,” he says. The next thing he knows, the bed is dipping from Steve’s weight and a spoon touches his lips. Bucky inhales, eyes opening. 

Steve’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He has him fixed with a steady stare. “You need to eat.” It’s not his Voice, but it could be. God, it could be. “Buck,” Steve says, looking plaintively at him. “You’re weak. Just take a few sips for me, alright? Just a bit. I need you to.” Bucky clenches his jaw in obstinance, but then Steve adds quietly, “Please don’t make me make it an order.” Bucky’s eyes must widen a fraction, because Steve nods. “Yeah, I know you don’t want that. So do it on your own, okay?” He nudges the spoon forward again. “Just a few sips at a time, c’mon.”

Slowly, Bucky parts his lips. Steve sighs in relief, smiling in thanks as he delivers the spoon to his mouth. “There you go,” he says as Bucky swallows. “Good boy.” Bucky flushes, unexpectedly affected by Steve’s words. He parts his lips again for the next spoonful, eyes locked on Steve’s as he feeds him. “How is it?” 

“Fine,” Bucky murmurs. Meekly, he asks, “Would you really order me to?”

Steve sighs, though he’s calm as he tells Bucky, “Yes, I would have.”

“You’d use your Voice? Threaten to punish me?”

“Yes.” Steve tilts his head in question. “That bothers you?”

Bucky scoffs. “Of course it does. So, what? Are you just gonna order me around our whole married life?” 

Steve frowns. “It’s my right as Headship.” He watches Bucky’s reaction carefully, then adds, “I’ll only ever use my authority over you if I feel like your well-being is in danger.” He looks meaningfully at him. “If you’re going to hurt yourself, or someone else, or if you get sick. If I feel that you’re being disrespectful to our union in public or that you’re making poor decisions for yourself. But I’ll always try to give you leeway. I know you’re an adult and I know you want independence for yourself.”

Bucky huffs, though he can’t argue against anything Steve’s said. Most Headships would be much stricter, would feel free to structure their spouses’ entire lives. Bucky’s lucky Steve isn’t like that, but he still hates the authority that Steve has over him. “I guess I don’t have any choice,” he mutters. Steve just looks sad that that’s Bucky’s response.

“It’s my responsibility, Bucky. Don’t hold that against me.”

Bucky grunts and says nothing. He meets Steve’s eyes again, opening his mouth for more soup. Steve sighs and delivers it. 

.oOo.

After the second day of his illness, Bucky spikes a fever and Steve sends for a physician. Bucky isn’t quite delirious, but he’s definitely not in his right mind when the doctor arrives and examines him. He informs them that Bucky isn’t merely seasick, but actually sick, and he prescribes a tonic and strict bedrest until they reach England. “Nothing worse than sickness spreading on a ship,” he tells Steve seriously. He’s spoken only to Steve since arriving in their staterooms, dismissing Bucky as subordinate, an invalid, or both. “No exertions for him. If he needs anything, get it yourself or have it delivered. You have servants?”

Steve nods. “Yes.”

“Good.” The physician nods politely at Bucky where he’s lying in the bed. “Get some rest, your Lordship.”

Bucky hums a response at him, his feverish state making him much less annoyed by the doctor’s dismissive attitude than he would otherwise be. “Kay,” he says. He watches as Steve bids the man goodbye, then returns to the bedroom. He sits on the bed and lays a hand atop Bucky’s own.

“I’m sure it’s just a bug,” he says. “Nothing to worry about. We’ll just do as the doctor says. I’ll take care of you.”

Bucky smiles, thinking muzzily that Steve is so sweet. He’s so _handsome_ , and yet he’s kind and cares about Bucky, as if he has no idea that Bucky’s socially inferior, or so badly scarred. “Thanks,” Bucky whispers, body shivering in another bout of feverishness. “S’cold,” he complains, trying to sink further into the bed. 

Steve snaps to attention and is immediately pulling the blankets up higher to better cover Bucky. He puts a hand to his forehead, frowning as he feels his temperature. “You’re burning up,” he says. “What you really need is ice water.”

Bucky moans pitifully at that idea. “No, Steve. Oh please don’ do that. M’so cold.”

Steve pets his face. “I know, honey, I know. But we’ve got to get your body temperature down.” When Bucky whimpers, Steve hushes him, promising him treats for his good behavior. “I’ll have Sharon bring you up a piece of cake, after,” he says. “Would you like that?”

Bucky shakes his head, still worried about the prospect of ice water, but he says, “I guess,” after a long minute. “…Chocolate?” he adds hopefully. 

Steve smiles. “Of course. Here, let me go ring for what we need.” He leaves the bedroom to ring the little bell that will summon one of their servants. It’s Clint and not Sharon who arrives only moments later. Bucky can hear their conversation through the open doorway. 

_“Sir.”_

_“James is ill.”_

_“How can I help?”_

_“Fetch a basin of cold water and cloths. Fresh sheets as well. And Clint?”_

_“Yes Sir?”_

_“See if you can find a piece of chocolate cake. …It’s important.”_

_“Of course, Sir.”_

Their conversation stops, and Bucky hears the door of the suite snick open and shut as Clint leaves. The next thing he knows, Steve is returning to the room. “Alright,” he says. “Clint’s getting what we need.” He looks Bucky over, frowning at how out of it he seems. “Bucky?”

“Hey,” Bucky slurs, thinking about the conversation he just heard and how Steve had said the cake was “important.” The thought makes him smile muzzily. “You’re nice,” he says. “Takin care a’ me.”

Steve smiles down at him, though it’s pinched. He reaches to swipe Bucky’s sweaty hair away from his face. “That’s how I _know_ you’re out of it,” he says wryly. “If you’re saying sweet things like that.”

Bucky whines, pressing his cheek into Steve’s palm. “You’re a good Alpha,” he murmurs, eyes slipping closed. He feels _so_ fuzzy. Having his eyes closed is better. “You get cake too.”

Steve chuckles, and the sound is very nice, making Bucky smile with his eyes closed. “Okay,” Steve says tenderly. “Okay Buck, we’ll both have cake. Keep your eyes closed now, okay? Get some rest until Clint comes back.” His hand is stroking Bucky’s face. It feels nice.

Bucky hums tiredly. “M’kay.” He drifts off, feeling shivery and sick, and safe.

-

Steve cares tenderly for him for the rest of the trip, and by the time they’re one day from arriving in port, Bucky is feeling much better, and also quite strange around Steve. His memories aren’t the sharpest, but he knows that he was open with Steve in a way he normally wouldn’t have been, when he was in the midst of his fever. And he remembers how tender Steve had been, taking care of him, bathing him and feeding him and fetching him everything he needed.

Bucky feels torn. He’d liked how close they’d been, is the thing. And now that he’s almost back to normal, he doesn’t know how to express his gratitude to Steve. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Thank you,” he winds up saying the last night on the ship, when he’s lying in the bed and Steve is standing to the side, changing into his night clothes.

Steve’s isn’t facing him. His hands pause on the buttons of his shirt and he turns his head. He looks surprised that Bucky is thanking him. They haven’t spoken much since Bucky’s fever waned and he regained lucidity. “You’re welcome,” Steve says, smiling a little. “It was hardly a burden to care for you.”

The way that he says it makes Bucky feel warm inside. He lets his eyes draw up and down Steve’s form where he stands, admiring the way his body looks in the fine clothes that he’s taking off, the glimpse of his chest that’s already bared from where he’s gotten his shirt half-undone. Bucky licks his lips, feeling heat start to stir in him. “You’re a very good nursemaid,” he teases. 

Steve chuckles. “I’m glad you approve. And I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He tilts his head. “You are, aren’t you?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yes, a lot.” 

“That’s good.” Steve undoes the last of the buttons and takes his shirt off. Bucky inhales louder than he means to, and Steve notices. He glances over, eyeing Bucky keenly. “Yes?” he says, and the tone of his voice is knowing. He can see Bucky’s interest. His eyes flick up and down Bucky’s body on the bed. 

Bucky blushes. “I uh…”

Steve turns to face him fully. He stands still and watches Bucky watching him, smirking the longer it goes on. “What are you thinking?” he asks.

Bucky licks his lips, “Just… that you look good.”

“You think so?” 

“Yes.” 

Steve looks pleased at that. His hands go to his belt, fingers undoing the buckle and deftly pulling it from the loops. He undoes his pants and steps out of them, and then, after a quick glance to check on Bucky, his underwear as well. He straightens, meeting Bucky’s stare with a heated one of his own. “How much better are you feeling?” he asks.

Bucky swallows down his nerves enough to say, “A lot.” Steve walks closer to the bed. He gets one knee up on the mattress and Bucky watches the muscles in his thigh move, how his cock hangs heavy between his legs, just starting to fatten up in interest. Steve’s got the most gorgeous cock Bucky could imagine.

“What do you want to do?” Steve asks, voice gentle.

Bucky jerks his gaze away from Steve’s cock, feeling caught for looking. “I… I don’t know. I just…” he falters, his face burning.

“Tell me, Bucky,” Steve commands. It’s not his Voice, but it’s firm; an Alpha talking to his Beta. “Don’t be shy. Tell me what you want.”

_God_ , but it undoes Bucky to hear him speak like that. “Touch me?” Bucky asks. He’s so hot, wants to be touched so badly. He wants to feel Steve’s body pressing down on him, rubbing against him; his mouth and his hot breath against his skin, his big, strong hands running all over his body. Bucky squirms in place, impatient now that he knows Steve wants it, too. “Please?”

Steve climbs up on the bed and lays out over Bucky, propping himself on his forearms and spreading Bucky’s legs with his hips. “Of course, Buck. Of course I will.” He dips down and kisses him, and just like every other time he’s ever done it, it’s perfect. Steve works his mouth gently over Bucky’s, slotting their lips together and slipping in with his tongue so naturally. Bucky’s kissed his fair share of men and women, but Steve kisses like he was born knowing how to do it. The careful way that he invades Bucky’s mouth makes the arousal thrum hotter beneath his skin. It’s erotic, opening up to him like this. Bucky moans into it, hands threading under Steve’s arms and grabbing at the backs of his shoulders. “That’s it,” Steve says between kisses, “Just let me make you feel good, okay?” He pulls back and looks in Bucky’s eyes. “Tell me I can.”

Bucky takes a shaky breath and he nods. “Yes.”

Steve smiles. He gives him one last kiss, then sits back on his knees. His hands slide up Bucky’s legs, drawing his night shirt up and baring his thighs, and then higher. Bucky’s breathing picks up at being exposed. “S-steve.” He’s embarrassed that this is still so new to him. He shouldn’t feel so nervous at being naked in front of his husband. His body belongs to him, after all. “Steve, please.”

“Shh,” Steve hushes. “It’s okay. I love seeing you. You’re beautiful, Bucky.” Bucky groans quietly and Steve leans down to press a kiss to his abdomen, hands rucking the night shirt up further. “Take this off,” he says quietly into his skin, leaving the rest of the job to Bucky while he continues kissing down his stomach.

Bucky pulls the nightshirt off completely and tosses it aside, looking back down at Steve. He’s holding Bucky at the hips, but then one hand moves over and he presses his thumb to the underside of Bucky’s cock, trapping it against his belly. He rubs the sensitive skin under the head, just barely moving his thumb is slow circles. Bucky moans and Steve’s eyes flick up. They’re dark and serious, and Bucky's blood runs hotter as he realizes that Steve is turned on from doing this to him. “That feel good?” Steve asks, voice quiet.

Bucky nods shakily. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Steve wraps his hand around him and gives him one good stroke, pulling the foreskin partway down to reveal the pink head of his cock. “Look at that,” Steve murmurs, his face so close to Bucky’s cock that Bucky can feel the warmth of his breath. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, turned on beyond reason at the sight of Steve’s gorgeous face so near to his erection. “Steve,” he whispers. “Oh, please Steve. Will you?”

Steve hums in approval and takes Bucky’s cock into his mouth. Bucky has to grit his teeth to keep from shouting, a stifled whine leaving his mouth instead. Steve hums again and smooths his free hand up Bucky’s hip to settle him. He pulls his lips away and looks back up to Bucky. “Still okay?” he asks.

Bucky nods. “Yes. Feels so good.”

Steve’s mouth ticks up in a smile. He strokes Bucky lightly at the base of his cock. “Have you ever had this done to you before?”

Bucky feels heat rush to his face. He shakes his head. “No. I didn’t think…” he cuts himself off, but Steve is waiting for him to finish the sentence, so he hesitantly admits, “Didn’t think Alphas did it.” Not that he thinks they _couldn’t_ do it, just that they didn’t. Sex and pleasure revolved around alphas, with the way people talked about it (and didn’t). And alphas ran the show. They fucked their partners, they didn’t sink down between their legs to service them. Bucky gets the feeling that Steve has never held to that standard, because his features instantly screw up in something resembling distaste. 

“Ridiculous,” he murmurs, saying nothing more before taking Bucky back in his mouth. 

Bucky’s breath punches out of him at the feeling of it. He reaches to thread both of his hands through Steve’s hair. “Oh, yeah.” It feels so _good_ , the hot, wet capture of Steve’s mouth making Bucky’s cock twitch and throb. “Oh, Steve,” he gasps, trying not to thrust up into Steve’s mouth or pull on his hair too hard. “ _Yes_.” 

Steve is stroking him with his hand and he’s sucking at the tip with gentle pressure, rubbing the flat of his tongue on that sensitive spot underneath. It makes Bucky’s toes curl, how perfectly gentle it is, getting him even harder in Steve’s mouth. “Fuck,” Bucky whispers, craving more. His balls are throbbing, pulling tight, and he reaches down to cup them.

Steve grunts around his mouthful and knocks Bucky’s hand away, palming him in his own hand instead. Bucky exhales harshly and releases his grip on Steve’s hair, his head dropping back down to the pillow and eyes slipping shut as he gives in to just feeling what Steve is giving him. It’s so much; Steve’s suckling on the head and jerking him off and rolling his balls all at the same time. One of his fingers slips back and presses against his perineum, rocking up and making Bucky shiver. “S-steve,” he slurs, “Steve, oh, oh. M’gonna come if you keep doing that.”

Steve pulls off his cock and Bucky feels disappointment flood him. “Look at me, Sweetheart,” Steve says. Bucky opens his eyes, seeing how flushed Steve looks, how red his lips are from sucking him. Bucky inhales harder at the sight. “You want me to make you come like this?” Steve asks. “Or do you want me inside you?”

Bucky’s eyes widen, his belly flipping in arousal at Steve’s question. He parts his lips, unsure of how he’ll answer until the words are right there on his lips. “Inside me,” he whispers, surprising even himself. He remembers how it had been, that first night on the ship, how Steve had opened him up so carefully and entered him so gently; how good it had felt, being taken like that.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, moving up the bed to lie over him again. 

If Bucky wasn’t sure before, he certainly is now—Steve’s body pressing down on him feels too good to lose. “Yes,” he breathes, canting his hips up to drag his erection against Steve’s stomach. He can feel the hardness of Steve’s cock as well, and it urges him on, knowing that Steve is aroused by what they’re doing. 

Steve’s scent gets stronger. He leans down and connects their mouths sweetly, like he’s thanking him with the kiss. “Okay,” he says when they’ve parted. “Just a minute.” He moves away to get the slick from the bedside drawer, returning with it and sitting back on his heels. 

Bucky bites his lip as he watches Steve slick his fingers. It’s so intimate and it makes him burn with embarrassment even as his cock jerks. Steve will be gentle, he reminds himself. He’ll make it good like he did before. Bucky nods up at Steve to show him that he’s ready, and pulls him down over him again, wanting him close while he does this. “Touch me,” he says, voice nothing more than a breath. “Make me ready.”

Steve groans at the words and he reaches down with his slicked hand, sliding past Bucky’s cock and balls until he’s touching his hole. He rubs him there, circling and pressing as he stuffs his face against Bucky’s neck and kisses him there. “Good,” he rumbles, clearly affected by what he’s doing. “That’s good, Bucky. Just relax.”

Bucky exhales a long breath, arching his neck to give Steve more room to kiss him and pushing down on the finger to draw it in. He gasps when it penetrates him, surprised by that not-quite-pleasurable feeling. “Oh,” he breathes. “S-steve.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I know, honey. I know.” He licks the shell of Bucky’s ear and bites at it, making Bucky shiver in his arms. “Shh, s’gonna feel good,” he promises, thrusting his finger to get Bucky used to it. “You want another?” he asks.

Bucky whines, nervous and wanting it at the same time. “Yes,” he says, then inhales shakily as he feels Steve press another finger up alongside the first. It’s a stretch, and Bucky whimpers at the slight burn of it. “Oh,” he gasps. “It hurts.”

Steve comes up and connects their mouths, soothing him with a gentle kiss. “You’re okay,” he says. “Just gotta loosen up for it.” 

Bucky nods his head in little jerks and focuses on accepting the intrusion, trying to relax as Steve pumps his fingers. “Curl ‘em,” he says, wanting to feel that spark of pleasure deep inside that Steve had elicited their first time together. “Make me feel it.”

Steve does, crooking his fingers inside Bucky’s body and rubbing. He finds the spot quickly, because Bucky cries out and his hips jerk. Steve kisses him deeper, setting in to fucking him with his fingers and swiping over his prostate with each pass. He keeps doing it until he feels Bucky’s hole starting to loosen up, the muscle becoming relaxed enough to take another finger. Gently, Steve pulls out and adds a third finger for the press in.

Bucky gasps at the feeling, head digging back into the pillow as Steve stretches him further. It doesn’t hurt now, it’s just overwhelming. The fingers inside of him brush that spot and make pleasure grow right alongside the ache. “Oh, oh,” he breathes, hips rocking with every thrust of Steve’s fingers. 

“Good?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods his head, eyes closed as he focuses on the pleasure. He’s got his legs cradling Steve’s body, and he wraps them around him, wanting him closer. He’s able to rock up against him then, tilting his hips and rubbing their cocks between their bellies. Bucky opens his eyes when he hears Steve loose a low moan. 

Steve's face is pinched in pleasure, mouth gone slack and his cock so hard and big between them. Bucky stares up at him, his eyes hot and wanting in a match of Steve’s, panting instead of speaking as Steve fucks him on his hand and rocks their hips together. “Let me know when you’re ready,” he says, voice tight with restraint. He’s so powerful and beautiful, and Bucky wants him inside his body right now.

“I am,” he breathes. “I’m good. I want it.” 

Steve’s fingers leave him and he grabs the lubricant again, getting his hand wet and stroking himself with it, then swiping the rest over Bucky’s hole. Bucky whimpers in anticipation as Steve lines himself up. “Breathe out,” Steve tells him softly. Bucky does, and that’s when Steve pushes in. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat at the feeling—so full and so hard. “S-steve,” he stutters, hands flying up to grab at Steve’s shoulders. “Oh, oh.”

“You okay?” Steve asks, and he’s still pushing, still sinking in, forcing Bucky’s body open around his cock. 

“Yeah,” Bucky pants, unable to say any more. It’s _so much_. “S’big,” he says, clutching onto Steve like he’s the last rock in a violent sea.

“I know, Buck. You’re doing so good, takin’ me so perfect.” Steve dips down and kisses him, slipping his tongue inside his mouth to make him moan. When he pulls back from the kiss he also pull his hips back, then thrusts smoothly back in. Bucky cries out and Steve groans. “So good for me, Beta.”

Bucky can’t stand it, how good he feels. He’s got his arms around Steve’s back, feet hooked over the backs of his thighs to hold him close. He moves in time with Steve’s thrusts, rocking up when he pulls out and back down when he shoves as deep in him as their bodies will allow. It’s easier after the first few minutes, Steve’s cock working him open, making his body open up and accept it. Bucky’s gasping with every thrust, a steady stream of _“Oh, oh, oh”_ leaving his mouth. _“Steve,”_ he gasps, “Oh, uh… _ughn!_ ” 

“Yeah,” Steve pants, hips working harder. “You feel so good, Buck. So— _ugh_ —so damn good. Baby…”

“Don’t stop,” Bucky keens, pleasure growing sharp in his gut, in the base of his spine and the place where his balls meet his body. They’re tight and throbbing, bringing the need to come into focus. Bucky gasps and shoves one hand down between their bodies, wrapping around his cock and pulling hard and fast. “Don’t stop, _oh_ , please don’t stop. Just like that, just like that.”

Steve growls above him, eyes burning as he watches Bucky’s pleasure, how he’s fucking himself on Steve’s cock and jerking himself off frantically. “Yeah,” he says, “You gonna come for me, honey?”

Bucky groans and has to squeeze his eyes shut at Steve’s rough encouragement, at the way he fucks him so good and calls him sweet names. He loves it, gets higher from it, and feels his orgasm inching up rapidly. “Yeah, yeah,” he pants. “S-steve, so close. Gonna come, m’gonna.”

“Do it,” Steve grunts, fucking him even harder; firm, deep thrusts that make his balls slap against Bucky’s ass. “Get it, baby. Go on, lemme see you come.”

Bucky gets _right_ there, stops jerking his cock and just squeezes underneath the head; tight little pulses that push him over the edge and make him cry out as he starts to come. “Oh, _oh fuuck_ ,” he sobs, the pressure unspooling rapidly as his cock shoots onto his belly. His whole body is seized by hot, sharp-sweet pleasure; a rush of relief so great it makes his eyes water. “Oh, _Steve_ ,” he pants. “Alpha, _oh_ , thank you, thank you…”

“ _Fuck_.” Steve snaps his hips harder, faster, his knot grows and Bucky can feel it bumping against the outside of his rim. One of Steve’s hands shoots down and starts squeezing it, then he’s jolting forward with a gasp, his face screwing up in orgasm. He groans, deeply and helplessly as it hits him, and it’s the most erotic sound Bucky’s ever heard. Steve’s last few thrusts become wet from the come that he’s releasing inside Bucky’s body, and the filthy-wet feel of it makes Bucky groan and tuck his face into Steve’s sweaty neck.

Steve keeps coming for long minutes, panting through it and grinding against Bucky’s body all the while. Bucky gets sensitive at the end and whines at the overstimulation, but he doesn’t push Steve away, just lets him rut into his body as he finds completion. When he finally stills, Steve opens his eyes and looks down at him. He looks devastated. “Oh, _Bucky_ …”

Bucky pulls his face down for a kiss, needing to show him how much he liked it, how _good_ Steve just fucked him. Steve grunts and starts kissing back, taking control of the kiss and holding Bucky’s jaw in one of his hands. When they part, he pulls out of Bucky and hushes his noises of displeasure. “Shh, I know. It’s okay.”

Bucky whimpers. He can feel Steve’s come leaking out of him. There’ _so much_ of it. “I’m wet,” he says, voice shivery and quiet. “I need—”

“A bath,” Steve agrees. “Yeah. Come on, we’ll take one together.” He takes Bucky’s hand in his and eases him out of the bed, chuckling at his whine when he’s standing and the come runs down his thighs. “I’ll wash you,” he promises. “Now come on, let’s see if this tub can fit the both of us.”

 

It doesn’t, but they make it work.


	5. A Sojourn in London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky encounter the rather stuffy upper crust of British Society.

The ship docks the following day, and most of the morning is consumed with getting off the ship and gathering their luggage. By the time they arrive at Steve’s apartment ( _their_ apartment, Bucky has to remind himself), Bucky is already tired. “Ugh,” he sighs, as he throws himself on the bed—this one much larger than what they’d had on the ship. “Finally.”

Steve chuckles from across the room. He’s unpacking some of his things. “Do you want to rest for a bit before we go out?”

Bucky perks up. “Go out?” 

“Yes. Why come to London if you’re not going to see it? I told you I'd like to show you the sights.”

Bucky gets excited at that, his fatigue slipping away. “Can we see Big Ben?”

“Yes.”

“London Bridge?”

“Sure.”

“Buckingham Palace?”

Steve laughs. “Well they won't let us inside, but of course, Buck. Any place you want to see, we can.”

Bucky bites his lip, feeling happy and grateful but not sure how to show it. “Great,” he winds up saying. “Just us, right?” 

Steve nods. “I gave Clint and Sharon the rest of the day off. It’ll just be you and me.”

Bucky nods, satisfied. “Okay, let me just get dressed in something suitable and I’ll be ready to go.”

They both change into day outfits and head out into the city. They tour several popular sites, all of which Steve is familiar with and happily shows Bucky around. Steve loves history and wants to see the British Museum, so they go there next. Bucky tags along reluctantly, not as enthused but willing to at least try it out. When Steve goes in to see the medieval warfare exhibit, Bucky say he’ll stay behind and go see the crown jewels instead. They agree to meet back up in the central atrium.

Left alone, Bucky trails along the glass cases that hold the bejeweled scepters, orbs and tiaras. He’s just stopped in front of the case that holds the Hope diamond, when a group of young men approaches. “James? Is that you?”

Bucky turns, eyes widening marginally as he recognizes three of his old schoolmates. “Oh,” he says, smiling. Carrick, Francis and John graduated along with Bucky the year previous. Bucky’s never been that close to John or Francis, but he’s always liked Carrick well enough. “Hi,” he greets, smiling a little. “What are you all doing in London?”

Francis—the only alpha in the group—answers for them. “We’re taking a year abroad before university, travelling through Europe, then North Africa.”

“How adventurous.” Bucky tries to smile, but inside he feels a pang of jealousy mixed with sadness. If it weren’t for his marriage to Steve, he’d probably be doing the exact same thing as his schoolmates. “What um, what universities are you attending?”

Francis beams. “I got into Yale. Pre-med.”

“Wow.” 

“We’re both going to Columbia,” Carrick says, tipping his head over at John. “It’s a good school, plus it’ll keep us close to home.”

Bucky nods. Like him, both Carrick and John are beta sons of Society. “That’s nice. What about Johanna?” The beta girl had always been a solid member of the threesome's social group, as far as Bucky could tell. But at his question, John rolls his eyes and Francis and Carrick snicker. “What?” Bucky says, confused.

“She just married an Alpha-Omega pair from Georgia. Needless to say, she couldn’t come.”

There’s scorn in John’s voice, and Bucky flushes. “Oh,” he says. “I see.” He glances down self-consciously to make sure his wristbands are covered by the sleeves of his jacket.

“Such a shame,” Francis adds. “I mean, getting married so soon? It’s so old-fashioned.”

“She should have waited,” John says. “Now she’s just somebody’s housewife.”

“Sad,” Carrick finishes. “Would’ve pegged her as having more ambition than that.”

“Naw, she never did get very good marks in school.”

“Hm, well not everyone’s cut out for university I guess. But even then, there are better things to do than tie yourself down at seventeen. What a joke. Only omegas start looking right after school.”

“Well they don’t have anything else to do.”

“What about you, James?” Francis asks. “What are your plans?”

Bucky freezes, mortified. “Oh, me?”

“Yeah. What university are you attending?”

"Let me guess, some science major, huh? You always did like mechanics."

Bucky feels like he’s panicking, trying to think of what to say. But before he can open his mouth to tell some lie, Steve’s voice calls from the entrance to the exhibit. “Bucky, there you are.” Bucky blanches. Steve comes over to stand by his side, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s waist when he sees the other young men. “I thought we said we’d meet up in the atrium.” He presses a kiss to Bucky’s hair and smiles politely at the group. “Who are you talking to?” 

Bucky feels like he’d like to sink straight through the floor. His schoolmates are staring, wide-eyed at how Steve is holding him. No one of proper breeding touches like that unless they're engaged or else married. Bucky knows they know now, especially when he sees their eyes flick to Steve’s wedding band. “Um, these are some of my schoolmates. Francis, John, Carrick. Fellas, this is Steve. Uh ...Senator Rogers of New York.” Bucky can’t meet their eyes as he adds, “My husband.”

All three of the guys tense up. Steve, oblivious to the awkwardness of the situation, nods his head and smiles. “Nice to meet you. Wow, I suppose it’s a small world after all, huh?” The guys chuckle nervously and agree. Steve looks down at Bucky. “You ready to go get some lunch?”

Bucky’s ready to _die_ , is what he’s ready to do. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Okay.”

Steve bids goodbye to the guys, saying, “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Francis says. 

Steve and Bucky head out of the exhibit. Bucky does glance back one time, only to catch the three guys already whispering animatedly. He can imagine what they’re saying back there. _“Poor James. He had to sell himself off. No university for him. Just like Johanna. Guess he wasn’t such an interesting guy after all.”_ Bucky’s face burns just thinking about it.

Bucky stalls in the hallway before they reach the café, tugging back on Steve’s arm. “I’m not hungry,” he says. “Can we just go back to the apartment now?” Steve stops walking and turns to look at him. He doesn’t let go of his hand. “Please?” Bucky says. 

Steve looks concerned, but after studying him for a long moment, he nods. “Sure.” He flags down a hackie for them, and they ride back to the apartment in silence. 

-

Steve doesn’t ask him any questions about what happened at the museum until later that evening, when they’re dressing in tails for a fancy dinner. The Duke and Duchess of Kent had extended an invitation, and given their status in Society, Steve hadn’t been able to say no.

“They won’t be there themselves, I’m sure,” he reassures Bucky as he stands behind him and helps him to shrug on his jacket. “It’ll just be minor nobility, like us.” When Bucky hums noncommittally, Steve adds, “British Society is different. They’re…”

“Stuffy as fuck?” Bucky supplies.

“I was going to say traditional, but yes.” Steve’s voice is lightly amused. When he speaks next, however, it’s all seriousness. “…Bucky, what happened at the museum today?”

Steve’s asked gently, but Bucky still tenses. “What? Nothing.” He steps away from Steve and goes over to the room’s dressing mirror, distracting himself with checking the lines of his tux. “I just wanted to come back home. I was tired.”

Steve is quiet, and for a moment Bucky thinks he’s going to let it go, but then he appears in the mirror behind Bucky. His features are knowing where they’re reflected in the glass. “Don’t lie. What happened with your friends?”

Bucky tenses up, afraid. He doesn’t want Steve to know, doesn’t want to have to relive the embarrassment. “Leave it alone, Steve,” he mumbles. 

“ _Bucky_ ,”

Bucky whirls around at the warning tone in Steve’s voice, scowling at Steve’s unfairly handsome face and the fact that he's pressing the issue. “What? Are you gonna Voice now? For something as trivial as this?”

Steve frowns heavily. “No, I wasn’t. I just want you to be honest with me.”

“I’m allowed to have things to myself!” Bucky snaps, irrationally angry at Steve for trying to coax the truth out of him. “You _said_ you’d let me have independence.”

“I know what I said.”

“Well was it a lie?”

Steve looks hurt at Bucky’s tone, but he doesn’t scold him for it. He hardens, stepping back to give Bucky his space. “No, it wasn’t,” he says. Now his tone is clipped, too. 

Something too close to regret for Bucky’s taste flashes through him at that, but he shoves it back down. “Good,” he huffs.

“Put your wrist bands on,” Steve says, though it’s not bossy. If anything, it’s detached. He’s not even facing Bucky as he says it, has already moved to open the bedroom door. “Come on. There’s a carriage waiting for us.”

Bucky bites his lip, feeling bad for how he’s spoken to Steve but not willing to apologize. He goes and grabs the wrist bands off the highboy and puts them on, unwilling to be a brat about that, too. They’re hidden from sight by the sleeves of his jacket, anyhow. He follows Steve downstairs and out onto the street, getting up into the carriage when Steve offers his hand. The ride across the city takes a long while, and Bucky’s discomfort grows. It’s when Steve has just started trying to make conversation about how silly it is that Europeans still have such an affinity for horse-drawn carriages, that Bucky blurts out, “They embarrassed me.”

Steve stops talking. He looks over at him. “What?”

Bucky keeps his gaze out the carriage window as he admits, “My friends. At the museum. You were right. They um, they were saying some stuff about a classmate of ours. A beta who married just after graduation.”

“…Oh?”

Bucky nods, feeling his cheeks heating despite the cool night air. “They were making fun of her, I guess. And then you came in and, well…” he shrugs.

“Oh, Bucky.” Steve’s hand finds his on the seat’s cushion, giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“They didn’t have a right to make fun of you,” Steve tells him. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. They’re no better than you are.”

Bucky makes a noise of tepid agreement, though he doesn’t agree at all. He pulls his hand out from under Steve’s and leans against the side of the carriage and stares out the window. “Thanks, Steve,” he says, not able to bring himself to explain to his husband how he really feels.

-

Bucky and Steve may be high Society in America, part of the Senatorial ruling class, but they aren’t _actually_ royalty. The Duke and Duchess of Kent, however, are. Their living accommodations show it. 

The carriage pulls through to the inner courtyard at _Kensington Palace_ , and Steve offers his hand to help Bucky down. He takes his arm as they’re guided into the palace and shown the way to a grand ballroom. Bucky has to double check that his mouth is closed a few times as he looks around. 

There are lots of other people, all just as finely or better dressed than Steve and Bucky are. Bucky catalogues the number of diamonds and other jewels that he can see adorning the heads and dripping from the throats of all the ladies, quickly deducing that outside of the British Museum’s Crown Jewels exhibit, he’s never been surrounded by such wealth. “Jeeze,” he mutters to Steve. “The Queen’s not making an appearance, is she?”

Steve chuckles and mutters back, “I don’t think so, Buck.”

Bucky smiles politely at the first two couples who come up to introduce themselves and chat. The Lady Cavendish is alpha and there with her beta husband. Another, Lord Barrows, is with both of his triad. The alphas both talk with Steve and eventually Bucky joins in. But the group gets quiet when he does. Lady Cavendish seems taken-aback. “My,” she says, looking unsure if she should be amused or annoyed. “You Americans certainly have relaxed manners.”

Bucky frowns, not understanding her meaning but pretty sure that he’s just been insulted. Steve’s hand comes out and pulls Bucky in against his side, almost possessively. “You’ll have to forgive my husband,” he says. “He’s never traveled enough to acquaint himself with European customs.”

Lord Barrows and his spouses smile and nod, and Bucky is left both confused and annoyed. He can’t help feeling that he’s being laughed at. “What?” he asks, peeved. 

Steve squeezes him the tiniest bit tighter against his side at his tone. “It’s customary in English society for spouses to wait on their Headship for invitation into the conversation,” he tells Bucky. 

Bucky can tell from Steve’s tone that he’s trying to appear in-control to the other people. He can also definitely tell that Steve is waiting for him to blow up. Though he does feel indignation zip through him at hearing such antiquated nonsense, Bucky doesn’t say anything more than, “Oh.” 

Steve seems relieved. His hold on Bucky relaxes. “That’s alright, darling. You didn’t know.”

Bucky wants to make a face at Steve calling him ‘darling’. It’s so obviously put-on. Sure, Bucky understands that airs have to be put on at Society functions, but he’s just not used to it with Steve, he supposes. Bucky doesn’t like it. “I’d be interested to know what other customs I’m ignorant of,” he muses, then pauses to look at the other two alphas. “That is, if I’ve been ‘invited into the conversation’.” He looks wide-eyed at Steve, pretending like he cares. Steve’s lips quirk the barest amount, but he nods and says, 

“Of course.”

“Oh _thank you_ , husband,” Bucky simpers. He doesn’t think the other guests are aware of how close he is to gagging. He looks back over to Lady Cavendish and her husband. “Well?” he asks. “What else should I know?”

“Your fashions are more liberal,” Lady Cavendish says. Now she looks somewhat amused by Bucky, if also somewhat disapproving. She nods to her beta and says, “What do you think, dear?”

Lord Cavendish perks up at his chance to speak. “Yes, I had noticed that.” His eyes run up and down Bucky’s outfit like he’s found several things lacking. It makes Bucky uncomfortable. “Your wrists are covered,” the other man notes. “No beta in Society would be caught in public with such an ill-tailored jacket.”

Bucky flushes. “It’s not ill-tailored,” he snaps. He’d noticed after a turn of the ballroom that all the other married betas’ suits and dress sleeves didn’t reach past their wrist bones, their wedding bands on full display. “It’s what’s fashionable.”

Cavendish Shrugs. “In America, perhaps.”

“In the twentieth century!” Bucky scowls. “Christ. Get over yourself. Not everyone needs to advertise themselves like property.”

Lord Cavendish doesn’t say anything back to him, just stands there smugly at having gotten such a reaction out of Bucky. His wife, however, says, “Well I _never_ ,” as if that fully-encapsulates her disdain for Bucky’s attitude. 

Maybe it does, because the next thing Bucky knows, Steve is gripping him by the back of the neck, shoving and then holding in a classic scruff. Bucky’s mouth falls open at the domineering gesture, a surprised sound leaving him without his permission. The shock of the action outweighs any outrage Bucky might otherwise feel. “I’m sorry,” Steve is saying. “Please, excuse us.”

The two other Headships titter as Steve steers Bucky away from the group. Bucky goes red all the way to his ears, he’s sure. Steve has him out in the hallway before Bucky can manage to react in any way, which is good news. He’s not sure just what he might have yelled at those people, if given the chance. He jerks out of Steve’s hold the second they’re alone in the hall. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?!” he yells, relieved when Steve lets him go. “ _Scruffing_ me?! In front of a whole room full of people?!”

“Bucky, calm down.”

Bucky glowers at Steve, feeling like his head is going to explode. “What the hell, Steve!”

Steve steps into his space, pressing him against the wall. “LOWER YOUR VOICE.”

Bucky would scream, if Steve hadn’t just Voiced that specific command at him. “How could you _do_ that?” he hisses instead, feeling betrayed. “How? Are you trying to humiliate me?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. Of course not. It’s their custom, Buck. I couldn’t be seen to do nothing when you spoke to them like that. I told you everything’s a lot more formal over here.”

Bucky growls. “You didn’t have to do that.” He hasn’t seen an adult, let alone an adult _beta_ , be scruffed by their Headship in public in he doesn’t know how many years. It’s a demeaning, authoritative sort of thing. Bucky feels like crawling into the ground, knowing that a ballroom full of British Society just witnessed it being done to him. “I _hate_ you,” he spits.

Steve sighs. “No, you don’t.”

“I do!”

“Shh.” Steve looks reproachfully at him. “I can’t let you disrespect our union in front of those people, Bucky.”

“I wasn’t!”

“To them, you were.” Steve looks pointedly at him. “You know it, too. You were being rude.”

“So what?” Bucky snaps. 

“Seriously?” Steve frowns at him. “Do you _want_ me to have to discipline you? Because I will, if you keep this up in public.”

Someone clears their throat, and both Steve and Bucky’s heads turn to see Lord Barrows standing there. “Sorry,” he says, not looking sorry at all. He steps over and pulls something from under his dress coat, hands it to Steve. Bucky’s eyes widen when he sees what it is. 

“The fuck?” he breathes before he can help it. “You carry a cane on you?”

Barrows smiles at Bucky like he’s a misbehaving child, but he speaks to Steve. “It’s a switch. I thought you might need it.” His eyes flick over Bucky, then Back to Steve. “See you at the dinner table, yes?” He turns and starts walking away.

“Um, yeah,” Steve mutters. He waits until Barrows is gone before turning back to Bucky. He holds the switch between them, seeming just as shocked as Bucky feels. “Well.”

Bucky’s belly flips at the implicit threat of the implement. He doesn’t like seeing it in Steve’s hand, wants to knock it to the floor. “Christ,” he murmurs. “These people live in the fucking dark ages.”

“They’re strict.”

“Ya _think_?” Bucky scoffs. 

“All Senatorial Households have canes,” Steve says. “Even your family must’ve.” 

“Not as an amenity for _dinner guests_ to use!” Bucky snatches the switch from Steve’s hand and holds it in front of his face. “You’d seriously hit me with this?”

“Senator?” Both Bucky and Steve’s heads whip up again. It’s Lady Cavendish this time. She looks distinctly interested in what she’s interrupted as she informs them, “Dinner is about to be served. Everyone is convening in the dining room.”

"Butt out!" Bucky snaps.

“Thank you,” Steve says. “We’ll be there shortly.”

Lady Cavendish affords them one last, curious glance, then nods and hurries out of sight. Steve turns his attention back to Bucky. He looks _very_ displeased. He holds out his hand. “Give me that. Now.”

Bucky gulps. Slowly, not wanting to, he gives the switch to Steve. He’s unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Steve’s fingers curling around the handle. “Are you going to hit me?” Bucky asks, surprised by how tiny his voice sounds when it comes out.

Steve sighs heavily. “No, Bucky. I’m not.” He takes the switch back and sets it aside. “I’d never hurt you like that. Not for anything so small.”

Privately, Bucky wonders what infraction would be serious enough, in Steve’s book at least, to warrant such a punishment. He decides against asking. “I don’t want to go back in there,” he says instead. “They’ll all think you were out here punishing me.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Hey!”

“Come on.” Steve says, snicker to his voice and guiding Bucky by the arm back out to the ballroom. “Try and act like a properly admonished spouse now, would you?”

Bucky makes a low growling sound, but says nothing. They are two steps from entering the dining room, after all.

 

Dinner isn’t much better than the ballroom, unfortunately. The upside is that he’s once again not expected to participate in any of the conversation, so he can just focus on eating his—delicious, he has to admit—food. The downside is that he has to wait for Steve to serve that food _to him._

Bucky is taken aback when he first notices it; the waiters bringing the courses out and setting them down only in front of the alphas. He stares at a triad across the table as the Headship moves some of the food onto her beta’s plate, and then her omega’s. Bucky flushes, suddenly remembering how that’d been one of the customs he’d observed when his father had brought him to a British state dinner when he was younger. Seeing it again, especially with Steve sitting next to him as his Alpha, is oddly mortifying. Bucky has to wait while Steve is served his dish and the lid is pulled off by the waiter. Steve looks over at him expectantly. “Well?”

“Seriously?” Bucky hisses. The other spouses all have polite phrases they use to ask their Alphas to be served. Steve just smirks. “You’re enjoying this,” Bucky accuses, and Steve shrugs. 

“Maybe a little. Here.” He takes Bucky’s plate and gives him well over half the portion. “I’m not actually going to make you say it.”

Bucky grunts, angry but also a little bit pleased that Steve is ladling over most of the spinach puffs. _I’d rather starve,_ is what he thinks, but out loud he just says, “Well good.” 

The rest of the dinner is spent in a similar, mildly-torturous fashion. Bucky sits quiet and pretty and lets Steve serve him each course, and he observes how insipidly the other spouses in the room behave. He imagines his life, spent stifled and serving Steve in mundane ways, watching some faceless omega claim all of Steve’s sexual interest and produce children for them while Bucky slowly goes insane from the boredom of an unimpressive domestic life.

When the triad directly across from them makes a rather obnoxious joke about omega suffrage—and Steve laughs along, mind you (Bucky doesn’t care if it was forced or not)—Bucky makes up his mind that he’s not going to let this happen to him. He’s not going to become one of those beta spouses across the dining table, not going to resign himself to a life as an invisible Second who takes what he's given and says thank you. Omegas and betas don’t have the right to divorce their Heads of household, he knows. But Alphas can choose to initiate the process if they wish. With the dowry to protect his family permanently secured, Bucky makes a decision right then and there to do everything he can to drive Steve away. 

If he can make Steve want a divorce, he’ll be free.


	6. A Public Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky aims to misbehave

Bucky sets his plan into motion the very next day. He asks Steve if they can do something fun in the evening. “Something that does _not_ involve high Society,” he stipulates, to which Steve gets a thoughtful look on his face and tells him,

“I’ll come up with something.”

What Bucky doesn’t expect is for Steve to take him out to a genuine tavern. Inside the local _Rose and Crown_ , it’s warm and loud and cheerful. Bucky lets Steve guide him to a booth and they both slide into the bench, sitting squished next to each other. “It’s crowded,” he says to Steve, voiced raised to be heard over the general volume of the place. 

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I know it’s a little common, but I thought it was what you—"

“I love it,” Bucky says, and he does. The hubbub and general cheer of all the patrons is infectious. It makes Bucky wish he could be a part of it. Society fellows like he and Steve would never be permitted to frequent places like this back home. The anonymity of their trip allows them to pass under the radar now, Bucky supposes. And the fact that they’ve dressed down for the evening (although still fancier than anything the locals are wearing) helps. Bucky’s honestly surprised that Steve would bring them here. “It’s neat,” he tells Steve. 

Steve smiles and looks enthused at Bucky’s response. “Yeah? Oh good. I’m glad you—”

“Let’s order drinks.” Bucky flags down the nearest barkeep and asks what drinks he would recommend. The man looks at him sideways and tells him he’ll bring them two pints. Bucky’s somewhat certain he catches the guy muttering something about ‘Rich folk’ on his way back to the bar. Two big glasses get clunked onto the table a moment later. “Hope you like Guiness,” Bucky tells Steve as he sits back and pulls his own mug in close. “Or whatever this is.” It’s black and foamy on top, and Bucky lifts the heavy glass to drink it. The foam gets all over his upper lip. Bucky pulls back and smacks his lips loudly. “Wow. I hate beer.” He sips again, accumulating more foam. Steve chuckles at him and Bucky raises an eyebrow. Deciding to be sly, he swipes the foam away on a finger, then sucks that finger into his mouth in a purposefully suggestive manner. 

“Buck,” Steve teases, voice warm. “Take it easy.”

Bucky refrains from rolling his eyes. “Oh,” he says. “I can’t entice you in public then?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “‘Entice’?”

“Mm.” Bucky shrugs. “You wouldn’t want me doing anything like, say… this?” He scoots closer to Steve and reaches to place his hand atop Steve’s leg. Even from over his trousers, Bucky can feel the firm muscle of his thigh. “Husband?”

Steve stills, his hand finding Bucky’s under the table and removing it. “Definitely not that.”

“Oh come on. Don’t be such an old man.”

“I’m hardly old,” Steve drawls. “Just because you’re a child.”

“You’re the one who married me,” Bucky grumbles before he can help it. Steve stiffens though, having heard. He lets go of Bucky’s hand.

“I meant it figuratively, of course.” When Bucky doesn’t back down, Steve exhales. “Honestly, Buck, what do you want me to say: ‘Yes, you can go ahead and grope me in public’?”

“Nobody would’ve seen,” Bucky snipes. “I was just trying to have fun.”

Steve looks like he doesn’t know what to say to that. Before he can say anything, the sound of a piano chimes, someone having started in on a loud tune across the bar. It’s a drinking song that’s obviously well-known, as many of the patrons laugh and start to sing along. “There,” Steve says, pulling Bucky to rest against his side. He kisses his hair. “Stop trying to molest me and just enjoy the atmosphere.”

Bucky grunts, pulls his beer in closer to drink it, and tries not to admit to himself how much he likes the feeling of being held against Steve’s large body.

Several beers and many songs later, and the pub is in full swing. The man who had been playing songs at the piano an hour ago has been replaced by a younger—and drunker—woman, and she’s banging out tunes that have _far_ bawdier lyrics, as Bucky is discovering.

He’d waited until Steve got caught up in conversation with a friendly stranger, then taken several shots in rapid succession before he could be caught. Now Steve has excused himself to the restroom and Bucky has downed another two shots and is at the piano’s side, standing with his mug in hand like all the other patrons and singing loudly along with the song that he thinks he’s got about half the lyrics down to—something about a locksmith’s mistress. 

The other people have noticed Bucky and that he’s American, and they start cheering for him to take the lead in the chorus, and hey, since Bucky’s drunk and wants to piss Steve off, he figures this is a good way to test the waters. It’s not like he isn’t having fun being stupid in public, anyways. So he gets up on a stool and starts singing the worst of the lewd lyrics with everyone clapping and singing along with him. 

Everybody is howling with laughter and general drunkenness, and Bucky is actually starting to crack up too. Somebody shoves what must be the prettiest girl in the room forward and they hoist her up onto another stool, and Bucky takes her into his arms and they sing the lyrics together, him getting the words wrong out of ignorance, and her out of utter drunkenness. The chorus comes back round again and they’re about to sing it, but then Steve comes back from the restroom and sees the situation. And he does not look pleased. His eyes widen in shock, and then narrow on where Bucky is holding the girl by the waist.

_Oh boy._

Bucky grins and lowers the girl back down to the floor. “Sorry Doll,” he says. “I think this is where I leave you.”

“Aw!!” The crowd moans about the ‘crazy American’ leaving, but Bucky waves them off with a drunken salute. “I love you!” he says. “God save the queen!”

The people laugh and cheer even louder at that, and just when Bucky’s about to say he’ll be back tomorrow night, he feels Steve’s big hand wrap around his wrist and give a firm yank. “ _Let’s go_.”

Outside on the street, Bucky has to keep his eyes on the sidewalk because everything in London is cobblestoned and therefore a literal deathtrap for any pedestrian who’s had more than two drinks. “Ouch! Oof, Steve, slow down!” Bucky’s giggling, holding onto Steve as they walk and partly aware of how unhappy his husband is. The upset, possessive Alpha smell coming off him is the best indicator. Bucky hums, amused by that as they walk. “Are you mad?” he asks. His voice sounds childish, even to his own ears.

Steve huffs and pulls Bucky along. “Yes, Bucky. I’m mad.”

“Whyyy?” Bucky whines. 

“Because. You were behaving like a fool.”

“Pft. So what?”

Steve’s hand tightens marginally on his wrist. “You’re a Senator’s husband!”

Bucky knows that. If they were in the States, he’d almost certainly be in the tabloids by morning print. “Why’d we have to leave?” he slurs, not paying attention to Steve’s answer at all. He knows he was being completely inappropriate. That’d been the _point_. He doesn’t admit this to Steve, of course. “I was having fun!”

“Too much fun,” Steve says, voice clipped.

Bucky grumbles unhappily. “No.”

“Come on. We’re here.”

The next thing Bucky knows, they’re in the apartment, and—wow—he must be drunker than he thought, because hadn’t they just been in the street? “Huh,” he says, rubbing his eyes and shrugging his jacket off onto the floor. He hears Steve make a frustrated sound and turns to face him. “What?”

“Pick that up,” Steve says. “You’re not going to make a mess in my home.”

“ _Your_ home?” Bucky frowns. “What’s yours is mine, _Dear_.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah. Hang your things up, or at least put them in the bin where the servants will find them.”

It takes Bucky a few seconds to process that, and when he does, he gets defensive and sneers at Steve. “The ‘bin?’ The bin is the trash can. Don’t you speak _British_?” He’s being nothing but snotty, but that’s the point. He kicks the jacket across the floor, though it doesn’t go far enough to be satisfying. “S’fine. I’ll get it tomorrow.”

Steve clearly doesn’t think it’s funny. He just stands there looking annoyed. “Trust me, tomorrow you are not going to be in any shape to tidy this place. Come on Bucky. Pick it up. I’m not playing this game with you.”

Bucky stills. “…Game?” he says angrily. “You think I’m playing a _game_?”

“Pick up your things and come to bed.” Steve leaves the room.

Bucky scoffs at the authority in Steve’s tone, and at the fact that he's pretty much dismissed him by turning his back and walking away. Bucky scoops up his jacket and follows after him, standing in the doorway to the bedroom and crossing his arms as he watches Steve starting to get undressed. 

“Hang your jacket up,” Steve says.

Bucky drops it. “Make me.” He kicks his shoes off one by one, just to add to it.

“Oh.” Steve calmly removes his cufflinks and watch and sets them aside. He takes the time to remove his shirt and drape it over the footboard of the bed. Bucky is briefly distracted by the sight of Steve’s bared upper body in only an undershirt, but then Steve turns to face him, and the look he gives him is all business. “Is that how it is, then?” he asks quietly.

Bucky nods, though in all honesty he feels a bit nervous to be actively challenging Steve like this. Even for someone like Bucky, it’s bold. Steve is his Headship, after all, and his features are darkening rapidly at Bucky’s behavior. “That’s how it is,” Bucky says.

Steve sighs, looking disappointed. “You’re sloppy-drunk Buck. How many shots did you down while I was away?”

Bucky firms his jaw, taken-aback and annoyed that Steve knows he’d done shots while he wasn’t looking. He doesn’t fight to keep a mean little chuckle from escaping him in response. “I dunno,” he says. “Who cares? I was having fun.” He gets up in Steve’s face and points at him. “That’s what fun people do, _Steve_. They have fun, they get drunk.”

“It’s how alcoholics have fun,” Steve snaps, not backing down from Bucky’s closeness. “Or bratty Betas who’re trying to cause a scene.”

Bucky freezes, caught out by Steve’s words. “I—I wasn’t…”

“Oh, weren’t you?” Steve raises an eyebrow. “You’re telling me that little display wasn’t you trying to push your boundaries with me?”

Bucky feels his cheeks heat. “Boundaries?” he scoffs. “What boundaries? You haven’t set any. I’m not a child.” Bitterly, he adds, “Like you have any right to—” 

“I have _every_ right and you know it,” Steve says tersely. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to make it a formal thing, with you. I was hoping you’d just—"

“Just what, Steve? Hm? Just behave? Obey you?”

Steve’s lips twist unhappily. “It was in your marriage vows, if you remember correctly.” 

That hits Bucky like a slap in the face. Because, _shit_ , it really was, wasn’t it? “Well we both know this was a marriage of convenience,” he says, well-aware of the new level of nasty he’s taking this to. “I didn’t get to write the vows, I just had to say them.”

“But you _did_ agree to say them. I gave you ample opportunity to back out,” Steve says. 

“And leave my family in ruin? Some choice.” Bucky growls, though it’s nothing like the sort of sound Steve could put out, if he wanted to. “I never wanted this. I never wanted you!” Steve is coming closer, backing him against the wall and holding him in place with his stare and his pure physicality. Bucky gulps. Steve smells… 

“You want boundaries? You’ll get them.”

Bucky gulps, feeling the unnerving urge to tip his head to the side and bare his neck to his Alpha. He forces himself not to. “You gonna hit me?” he asks, genuinely worried that Steve might. He certainly looks displeased enough.

For a second Steve’s eyes go soft, but then they harden. “You seem to think you can keep asking that, then provoking me, then asking again, and it’ll never happen,” Steve says. He tips his head, leaning closer—close enough that Bucky would half think Steve was going to kiss him, if they weren’t in their present situation. “What do you think I should do to you hm? You think I should spank you? Put you over my knee?”

Bucky swallows heavily and shakes his head the barest bit. “No.”

Steve’s eyebrow raises. “No? Hm. Over the bed then? I think that’s how my mother did it with my fathers.” 

Bucky scowls. 

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Maybe with your palms against the wall? Or wait… I know, I’ll have you bend right in half and grab your ankles. That’s the most humiliating position of all, isn’t it? Maybe that’s what it’ll take with you. I've been spending all this time trying to be lenient, trying to be your friend. But maybe that’s not what you need.” 

Bucky whimpers, overwhelmed by this new side of Steve he’s seeing. “S-steve.”

“Maybe you just need to be put in your place.” Steve physically presses Bucky against the wall, crowding him until their chests are touching and he’s putting his lips to Bucky’s ear to whisper, “You think I don’t know how to assert myself in this marriage, Bucky? Well try me. I didn’t put the capital H in Headship, but we both know it’s there. I wasn’t raised to neglect my spouse.” He steps back, giving him a few inches of space. “I’ll discipline you when I feel it’s needed.”

“Now?!”

Steve shakes his head, mouth tight. “Tonight was your last freebie.”

Bucky is left gaping, unable to untangle his cowed thoughts from his outraged ones. He’s drunk, so he settles on growling and jerking away from Steve, headed to the bathroom to get away from him. “I hate you!” he snaps, not clever enough to come up with anything else to say. Steve doesn’t reply or follow after him, thank goodness. 

Bucky runs himself a bath just to have time to himself. Eventually the bathwater gets cold though, which is unfortunate but not unexpected. Bucky pulls the plug out of the drain and dries off using one of the big fluffy towels—Steve’s London apartment really _is_ luxurious. But Bucky doesn’t have time to appreciate the fine crystal fixtures or the smooth marble floors. He knows he has to go back out to the bedroom and face his husband now, and he _so_ doesn’t want to. 

Steve is sitting up against the headboard, on top of the covers and changed into his night clothes. He’s holding a book, the bedside lamp’s gas flame just barely illuminating the darkness. “Hey,” he says, marking his place in the book and setting it aside. He pats the bed next to him and says, “Come on over here.”

Bucky frowns, feeling vulnerable with his hair wet and nothing but a towel around his hips. He goes over to the vacant side of the bed. “You want me to sleep in here?” he asks, voice unsure. He’d half been expecting Steve to tell him to sleep in another of the bedrooms.

“I don’t subscribe to the notion of kicking spouses out of bed for misbehavior,” Steve says. He nods for Bucky to lay down. “Come here.” Bucky bites his lip, eyes roving over to where his own nightclothes are stored in the dresser. “You don’t need that,” Steve says, bringing Bucky’s attention back. He nods at the towel. “You’ve been so eager to drop your clothing all night. You can stay naked.”

That makes Bucky’s guts twist with dread and, okay, maybe the _barest_ twinge of arousal. The dread far outweighs it, though. He hesitates, but eventually listens, dropping the towel and climbing under the covers quickly. He doesn’t want to be naked in front of Steve. “Don’t touch me,” he says when he’s laid down and Steve is moving closer. Steve pauses, body going stiff where he’d been about to pull Bucky into his arms. “I don’t want to have sex,” Bucky says, not quite able to meet Steve’s eyes. “Please …don’t make me.”

It’s a long moment before Steve speaks, and when he does, his voice is quiet but firm. “I will _never_ force you to have sex with me, Bucky. Do you understand that?” Bucky keeps his eyes down and nods, but Steve doesn’t accept that. “LOOK AT ME.” 

Bucky inhales sharply at the use of Steve’s Voice. He meets his eyes. Steve doesn’t look mad, but he does look like he’s waiting for Bucky to listen to something important. “What?” Bucky says.

“I know what I said about being your Headship, Buck. And I meant it. But I promise you I won’t ever make you do anything sexual that you don’t want.”

Bucky shrugs, embarrassed even though he’s glad to hear Steve say this. “Don’t see why not. It’s your ‘right’ just like everything else.”

Steve must be able to hear the quiet scorn in that, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Go to sleep, Buck,” he says, and this time he sounds tired, or maybe sad. “Trust me: I have zero interest in touching you that way tonight. I was just going to hold you while we fall asleep.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“…And you only ever have to say ‘no’ to me, if you don’t want it,” Steve adds. His scent has gone from angry to… something kind of forlorn. Bucky doesn’t like it. “Go to sleep now,” Steve says again. He reaches over to turn the lamp off, and then they’re left in darkness. Bucky feels the motions as Steve shuffles and lays down on the mattress—firmly on his side of the bed.

He winds up feeling cold and alone, and wishing he’d allowed Steve to hold him after all.

.oOo.

Bucky has a hangover the size of Long Island the next day. 

Steve isn’t too sympathetic about it, which irks Bucky. He’s already feeling like shit, he doesn’t appreciate Steve’s continued scolding.

Only he doesn’t scold him. He’s cordial and that’s it, making himself scarce after they dress for the day. Sharon is the one who gives Bucky what he needs. He’s provided with a tonic to help relieve his headache, a mild breakfast and absolutely no words of comfort. It’s not Sharon’s job to do that. She’s just household help. Bucky is left on his own to figure out what to do for the day. 

“Where did Steve go?” he asks Sharon, when he notices that the apartment is empty save for the two of them. 

“Clint took him to a meeting, I believe,” Sharon says. She’s carrying laundry in a basket, and she continues away down the hallway, leaving Bucky alone. He’s reminded how this is Steve’s apartment and Steve’s household staff. They probably don’t feel like they owe Bucky anything at all.

“Oh,” he says to no one. “Okay.” 

Steve returns around eleven o’clock. Bucky forces himself not to ask where he’d been. He doesn’t want Steve to think he cares. Steve appears in the living room and looks down at where Bucky is sitting on the couch. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I received a telegram,” Steve says. “A motion was called and I had to send instructions on how I wanted my vote to go.” 

Bucky wants to ask what the motion was, but he forces himself not to. “Kay,” he says.

Steve stares at him. “What’ve you been doing this morning?” 

“Nothing. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to go out.” He says _allowed_ with a modicum of sarcasm. 

Steve frowns. “What? Of course you could.”

“Well how would I know that?” Bucky snaps. “I don’t know what these new ‘boundaries’ are, Husband.” He uses the title of “Husband” in an obnoxious show of formality. If Steve wants to be all Headshippy on him, Bucky will treat him like one. He gets a small measure of satisfaction as he watches Steve realize this.

“Oh. Well okay.” Steve seats himself in the room’s armchair. “I suppose you’re right. Would you like to discuss that now?”

“Not particularly, but I guess it’s whatever you want, right Husband?”

Steve huffs. “Is that how you’re addressing me now?”

“Unless you’d prefer ‘Alpha’.”

Steve’s jaw works in frustration. “I’d prefer my name, in private company.”

“Fine.”

“Oh stop it,” Steve snaps. “Just because I scolded you last night doesn’t mean I’m suddenly your jailor. Grow up.”

Bucky feels anger flood through him, though it’s followed quickly by embarrassment. “I’m _seventeen_ , Steve!”

“I _know_ ,” Steve growls. “Am I supposed to feel bad about that? I don’t. You think it's tough being married so young? Try being shoved into a Senate seat at twenty four. You’re seventeen, not seven. Act like it.”

Bucky huffs and crosses his arms, refusing to say anymore. Steve watches him for a moment before speaking. “Boundaries, okay. Let’s talk about it. I won’t expect you to tell me your every move, but I will expect to know what your general plans are during the day.”

“Even on this trip?” 

“Even more so on this trip. Our _honeymoon_.”

Bucky snorts. “For as splendidly as it’s going.”

“And you were raised as a gentleman and Senatorial heir, just like I was,” Steve says. “So I expect you to conduct yourself as such in public. No drunken escapades, rudeness or disrespecting our union.”

Bucky can’t manage any comment on that. Steve’s right. Bucky _was_ raised as a gentleman. He feels a small bit of shame creep in at Steve’s reminder of his behavior last night. _That’s what it’s going to take though_ , he reminds himself, if he wants to make Steve want a divorce. “Okay,” he says. “Fine. Those are the rules. Now I know them.” _Now I know exactly which ones to break._

“Good.” 

“Good.”

Steve seems to relax a bit. “What would you like to do today?”

“With you?”

“Yes. We’ve got another two days in London before we head to the continent. Is there anything you’d like to do, see?”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess.”

Steve nods. “Well come on then. I’ll get Clint to call us a cab. We can go into the city.”

-

Despite his efforts to remain despondent, Bucky winds up having a generally good time while he and Steve visit some of the more popular tourist sites around the city. His hangover ebbs and after Steve buys them lunch at a café, he feels back to normal. He finds himself slipping back into friendly territory with Steve, and he scolds himself each time. Steve is a reasonably nice guy, so If Bucky ever wants to get out of this marriage and get his independence back, he’s going to have to keep his distance. 

They see most of the places Bucky had on his list to see. London bridge, Big Ben, Parliament and Buckingham palace take up most of the afternoon, and Bucky finds himself growing antsy as he realizes that he’s been friendly with Steve all day and not managed any incidents that might add to their fighting.

This marital discord stuff is hard.

They get to Westminster abbey and step out of the hackie together. “We’ll head home after this, yeah?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I’m hungry.”

Steve smiles and takes his hand. “Sharon told me she’s making a roast for supper. It should be good.” 

Bucky doesn’t comment. Instead he’s quiet as he looks at their joined hands. Steve guides him into the abbey. “Wow,” he says once they’re inside. “It’s huge.”

Bucky nods, looking up at the ceilings. “It doesn’t seem any bigger than the national cathedral though.”

“You’ve seen it?” There’s a modicum of surprise in Steve’s voice.

Bucky scoffs, yanking his hand back to himself. “My family _did_ keep a residence in D.C., you know. I’ve been to the capitol tons of times.”

“…Of course. I wasn’t making a jab at your circumstances.”

Bucky keeps examining all the fancy architecture, not looking at Steve. “I suppose we would’ve gotten married there, if it hadn’t been such a rushed affair.”

“Either there or at St. Patrick’s in New York, yes,” Steve says. “It’s customary.”

Bucky nods. Privately, he’s grateful that they hadn’t had to have a grand State wedding. Even if he’d chosen the marriage, he wouldn’t have enjoyed saying his vows in front of a thousand people. He continues looking around the cathedral, eventually wandering away from Steve, who lingers in the section where the monarchs are buried. 

A man in church robes approaches Bucky near the nave of the church and greets him with a smile, asking if Bucky has any questions about the history of Westminster. Bucky shrugs, stepping away from the plaque he’d been reading. “No, not really,” he says. “I was just looking around.”

“I see,” the man says. 

“Are you a priest?”

The man smiles. “No. I’m a deacon here.” He holds out his hand. “Deacon Foster.” 

“James Bar— um, Rogers, that is.” 

“You’re American?”

“Yes. I’m here with my husband, Senator Steve Rogers.”

The man’s eyes seem to light with recognition. His posture straightens. “I see! Is this your first visit to London?”

“…Second. We’re honeymooning here.” 

“Wonderful!” The man beams, which is annoying. Bucky has had more than his fair share of experience with being treated differently once people figure out who he is, and he can tell that’s what’s happening now. He tries to think of a way to get out of having to talk further with this man. “I think I’d better go find him, actually,” he starts to say. “We were—” 

“Are you interested in worship services during your visit?” the deacon asks. “We have seven services each Sunday. I’m sure with your husband’s Societal standing I could arrange for reserved seating.”

Bucky frowns. “No thank you. I—” His eyes catch on movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he glances over he sees Steve heading their way. He pauses, reconsidering his words. “I… actually don’t go to church.”

“Oh.”

“I’m an atheist,” he says, making his voice bland-bordering-on-disdainful. Deacon Foster’s face is turning pink. He looks somewhat mortified. “Well… that’s—”

Steve has come up to Bucky’s side, and Bucky says, “Religion is the root of all evil, if you ask me.” It’s a wild exaggeration and just about the rudest, most-awkward thing Bucky can think of on the spot to say. He’s always held a general belief in God, but he continues his rude speech now that Steve is there to listen. “When was that last pedophilia scandal? Half a year ago?”

“Bucky!” Steve says, looking to the deacon in embarrassment. 

“What? It’s true. Religion is just the opiate of the masses; people too scared to use their own brains, so desperate for comfort that they'll believe anything. Then they give corrupt men power that they don’t deserve. Christianity spreads intolerance and hate, and it just generally fucks up other people’s lives. It’s fucking awful.”

It’s a trifecta of obscene behavior for which Bucky is somewhat proud of himself. If the insults to religion and the shameless mention of lewd acts weren’t enough, he’s also made sure to top it off with a nice smattering of curse words. Bucky smiles meanly at the deacon. “As far as I see it, ‘God’ is nothing but a rapist, murderer, thief and pedophile, himself.”

Unsurprisingly, deacon Foster is starting to look enraged. “Sir! You are in a house of worship. Have some respect.”

“‘Respect’?” Bucky scoffs. “For what? The Church of England? It’s been responsible for more abuses than—” 

Steve’s hand closes around the back of Bucky’s neck and scruffs him so fast that Bucky’s speech cuts off in a gasp. “ _Sir_ ,” Steve practically growls at the deacon. “I am _so_ sorry for this rudeness. Please, excuse us.”

“Well I _never_ ,” the deacon sputters. He looks utterly outraged, though Steve’s taking control of the situation seems to have kept him from outright yelling at Bucky himself. “I’d suggest you leave,” he says tightly. “ _Don’t_ come back, and take your disrespectful spouse with you.”

Steve nods tightly. “We’re going.” On Bucky’s neck, his fingers tighten and he steers him away. “Come _on_.” He marches him down the length of the cathedral and shoves him into a narrow side hall near the front doors. He crowds Bucky in against the wall. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” he hisses.

Bucky fights back a smirk. “What?”

“How could you say those things to that man?!”

“It was all true,” he says. “You want me to lie?”

Steve’s face darkens. “Don’t play coy. It doesn’t suit you. You went out of your way to provoke him.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, putting no apology in the word. Steve seems to be able to tell this. He steps back from Bucky. 

“Come on. We’re going home.”

“What if I don’t feel like—”

“FOLLOW ME,” Steve Voices, already walking away.

Bucky’s eyes widen at being commanded, though he knows he honestly shouldn’t be surprised at this point. His feet start following, and even though it’s not pleasant seeing Steve so pissed off, he does thrill a little at having accomplished his goal. 

_This was just one small step_ , he thinks. He’s got to do far worse to make Steve want a divorce. 

-

Steve is silent and terse on the ride back to the apartment, but once they’re inside and the door is shut, he gets right to work in ordering Bucky about. “SIT,” he says, pointing at the writing desk in the living room. “THERE. GRAB A PEN AND PAPER.” He stalks out of the room, leaving Bucky to do as told and worry what’s next. 

He returns after only a moment, stack of envelopes and papers in hand. “What’s that?” Bucky asks.

“The post. Our mail was forwarded. These are the nuptial congratulations and well-wishes we’ve received.” He sets a large part of the stack in front of Bucky. “This is a list of the guests who were at our wedding.” He sets another paper down. “And this is a letter from your mother.” He sets down one last envelope. 

“My mother?” Bucky starts to reach for it.

“NO,” Steve says, making Bucky’s eyes snap back to him. “YOU’RE GOING TO ANSWER THE OTHER LETTERS FIRST. THEN YOU’LL WRITE THANK YOU LETTERS TO EACH AND EVERY PERSON WHO ATTENDED THE WEDDING.”

Bucky winces. “You can stop Voicing,” he says. 

“No, Bucky. I can’t.” Steve is looking at him with icy eyes. “You obviously don’t know how to listen without it.”

“You should’ve told me I wasn’t allowed to speak my mind to strangers,” Bucky throws out. “How was I to know that was one of your ‘boundaries’?”

“SHUT UP,” Steve says. “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO SAY ANYTHING SMART FOR THE REST OF THE EVENING. SIT HERE AND ANSWER THE LETTERS. DO A GOOD JOB. I’ll be reviewing them before they’re mailed.”

Bucky huffs. “Fine.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow at his tone, but doesn’t command him any further. He makes to leave the room. “I’ll be in the office,” he says. “I’ll come get you when dinner is ready.”

 _Well_.

Bucky twists his lips to keep himself from saying anything as Steve leaves. He supposes that as far as consequences go, this isn’t so bad. He sets in to opening the envelopes.

Most of them are from high Society: other Senatorial families or congressmen and women. A few letters from prominent common folk have made it into the mix, though. Bucky recognizes the name of a famous singer on one. Everybody writes nauseatingly cheerful messages, all in the general theme of: Congratulations! Blessings for your union and best wishes! Here’s hoping you find your Third and have butt-loads of children as soon as possible! 

Bucky crafts three versions of the same reply, which he cycles through. 

Some of the cards make mention of wedding gifts that’ve been given, and it becomes clear that Bucky and Steve will have a front hall full of packages when they arrive back to Steve’s Brooklyn residence back in the States. The promise of a state-of-the-art gramophone, in particular, holds Bucky’s interest (he writes that individual an actual customized response). 

Over an hour later, Bucky is still writing, having answered all of the well-wishes and moved on to the list of wedding attendees he needs to thank. His hand is cramping and he’s just set the pen down to wince and rub at his palm, when Steve appears. He clears his throat at the door. His eyes are fixed on Bucky’s hand. “You’re hurt?”

“No.”

Steve stares at him for a few seconds as if he’ll say something else, but he doesn’t. “Sharon says dinner’s ready.”

“I haven’t gotten to read the letter from my mother,” Bucky says. “Can I—”

“No. Come on. Dinner.”

Bucky tucks his lips in and follows meekly after Steve. At least he’s not using his Voice anymore. 

Dinner is indeed a roast, and it’s delicious. Bucky moans a time or two during the meal, and though he isn’t trying to entice Steve, he does catch his husband pausing to consider him each time he moans. “Sharon’s a much better cook than Harold.”

“That’s your family’s cook?”

“Yes. …Though I’m not sure they’ve been able to keep him on staff since… you know.”

“I’m sure they have,” Steve says. “The marriage contract stipulated that they be well-provided for.”

“How much?” Bucky asks—quite forwardly.

“That’s between your mother and I,” Steve says, though there is a degree of amusement in his tone. “Honestly, Bucky.”

“Come on Steve. Please tell me? I’d like to know. I’d like to not have to wonder what my mom and sisters are able to afford.” He looks down, abashed. “…I’d like to not have to worry.”

Steve softens at that, and he begrudgingly admits, “Twenty thousand per annum, Buck.”

Bucky inhales harder than he intends to, choking on his mouthful of food. He coughs and swallows before he’s able to say, “Seriously?”

“I told you not to worry.”

He’s shocked, he can’t hide it. Steve’s paying Bucky’s family just as much as they ever earned on their own. “You can… you can afford that?”

Steve shrugs. “I wouldn’t pay it if I couldn’t afford it. House Rogers is wealthier than most. Surely you must’ve realized that.”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says. “I guess I just didn’t know how much you’d be willing to pay for my family.” Suddenly, he feels very, very embarrassed, very small, and very grateful to Steve for what he’s just admitted to. “Um, thank you,” he mumbles. 

Steve nods. “You’re welcome.”

That’s all the more they talk about it, both of them finishing their meal in silence. When his plate is cleared and his belly full, Bucky sighs and stands. “Well I guess I’ll get back to it. I’ve still got a bunch of letters to do.”

“You can take a break, Buck,” Steve says. “You’ve done a lot. Finish tomorrow.”

“Really?” 

“Yes. Why don’t you go read the letter your mother wrote you, okay? I’m going to finish up a few things in my office, then I’ll get ready for bed.” He doesn’t say anything about Bucky doing the same, but it’s clear that he expects it.

Bucky nods. “Okay. I’ll uh, I’ll see you in a bit.”

“See you in a bit.”

Bucky goes back to the living room and reads the letter from his mother. It’s a kind and heartfelt note, but nothing that Bucky hadn’t expected from her. He takes the time to write her back, then seals that envelope and sets it aside to be sent out with the next day’s post. Briefly, he wonders what she’ll think of it when he and Steve divorce. 

When he goes to bed, Steve is already washing up in the en-suite, so Bucky has privacy as he changes into pajama pants and a shirt. He trades places with Steve in the bathroom and then they both tuck in. “I’m tired,” Bucky manages to say, half because he is, and half because he isn’t at all certain what Steve wants to be doing now. Will Steve always be obvious when he wants sex? Or is Bucky supposed to ask for it?

“Okay, Buck. Me too.” Steve leans over and cups the back of his head, pulls him in and pecks a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight.” He lays down and adjusts his pillow, closes his eyes. 

Bucky bites his lip, staring at Steve’s face for a moment. God, is the man ever good looking. And what did that kiss mean? “…Steve?” he says after a moment.

“Mm?” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“Are you still mad at me?” Bucky isn’t sure if he wants the answer to be no or yes. Steve getting mad was the point.

“Just… go to sleep Buck. It’s over. We can start fresh in the morning.”

_Well._

Bucky huffs and lays down. Being married to Steve is… confusing. He needs to get this divorce thing going before he does something stupid, like develop feelings.

-


	7. A Dream, a Visit, a Game

That night, Bucky dreams of _pain_ , twisting his body up in the sheets that he can’t feel, sweating madly even as he feels himself freezing to death in the cold sludge of the snow, everything around him stained red from the blood.

“No!”

His arm, so mangled he can hardly recognize it, nobody coming to help. The horses broke off from the carriage and nobody’s moving.

“Help!”

He writhes and screams, unable to escape the terror, the pain and the cold. Oh God, the pain! He gasps and pants, terrified to look and see what’s happened to him. When he finally manages to look, he feels like he’ll vomit. _Oh! His arm, his arm!_

Bucky screams endlessly.

“Bucky, Bucky wake up!”

It takes Steve shaking him, hard, before Bucky escapes the nightmare. He gasps and wakes up, eyes already flooded with tears. “S-steve!” Both of his hands fly up to Steve’s shoulders, the left one lame and gripping the fabric of his nightshirt weakly. Bucky sobs. “Oh, _Steve!_ ”

“Shh,” Steve hushes, pressing his lips to Bucky’s forehead. He’s laying over top of him. He looks upset, smells like worried alpha. “Shshsh. It’s okay. You’re okay. You were dreaming. It was just a dream.”

Bucky pants as he comes to his senses, the panicked sweat that’s covering his body making him shiver. Steve’s scent hits him harder than it ever has before, and Bucky stares up at his concerned blue eyes, his pinched brow and parted lips. “Steve…” A sudden wave of desperation and _need_ crashes over him, and before he can even figure out what it is he needs, he’s kissing Steve hard.

Steve makes a sound, a muffled ‘mmph!’ that sounds like surprise and confusion. It quickly changes, however, an inhale of understanding, and then he’s kissing back. Bucky moans, hands scrabbling at Steve’s nightshirt.

It’s pitch dark in the room and they pull at each other’s clothes inelegantly, silent except for their fast breathing, the rustling of the sheets as they move. Bucky feels Steve stall a couple of times, his eyes wide and unsure when he pulls back from a kiss, when Bucky rolls them over so that he’s on top. “Bucky?” he starts to ask.

Bucky smashes their mouths back together, not giving Steve the chance to speak. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to hear the worry in Steve’s voice, asking him if he’s okay. He’s not okay, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. He just wants to feel. “Touch me,” he exhales roughly against Steve’s lips once they’ve both finally shed their night clothes and are pressed together, skin against skin. He can feel Steve’s cock against his belly; they’re both hard. “Fuck me.”

Steve doesn’t question it anymore, and Bucky is desperately grateful. Steve just allows him to kiss and paw at his body, hands everywhere and probably a little too rough, hips rolling down frantically. 

When Steve hands him the lubricant, Bucky isn’t gentle with himself either. He hurries through it, stretching himself with two fingers and not enough slick before he holds Steve’s cock still and sinks down. It burns as he goes, but he doesn’t stop. He gasps and grits his teeth and pushes through the pain until he’s fully seated. Steve hisses and grips him hard, fingers curling over his hips. “Bucky,” he says.

“Don’t talk.” Bucky kisses him again, shoving his tongue into his mouth and distracting them both. He doesn’t want to think, he just wants to feel. When Steve starts pulsing his hips, Bucky pulls back and sits up. He braces himself on Steve’s chest, their eyes connecting in the darkness.

He starts to ride him.

It’s quiet and rushed and not graceful at all. Bucky rocks himself down on Steve’s cock, selfishly seeking his own pleasure. The harsh rolls of his hips have little to do with thrusting and everything to do with rubbing Steve’s cock right over his prostate. It probably isn’t very good for Steve, is probably frustrating as hell but Bucky doesn’t care. He wraps his hand around his cock and starts stroking himself off, desperate to come.

It’s when Steve’s knot grows and starts to bump against his rim that Bucky gets close. He grunts at the feeling of it, clenching up and inhaling sharply at the wave of _want_ that surges through him. He wants Steve’s knot, he realizes; wants it hot and hard and tying them together. He growls, pushes down hard against it, feeling the threat of it, imagining it going in and filling him up. It can’t happen, but he imagines it anyway. 

Steve’s eyes go wide as he realizes what Bucky’s doing, he looks so aroused and he’s quick to yank Bucky down, fitting his teeth to Bucky’s neck and biting, _hard_.

Bucky gasps, and comes.

.oOo.

They don’t talk about it, after. Or at least not the sex part of it. Bucky’s not sure when they fall asleep, but they wake with the sunlight the next morning. He touches the mark on his neck while he’s standing in front of the dressing mirror. It’s red and irritated, teeth marks visible. Steve broke the skin. 

“…It might not scar.” Steve has come up to stand behind him. He’s fully-dressed, as is Bucky. 

Bucky brings his hand back down. “Yeah,” he echoes. “Might not.” 

Steve steps closer, meeting Bucky’s eyes in the mirror. He takes hold of his hips and pulls him back against his body. “Last night…” he hedges.

Bucky winces. “It’s what I wanted.” He doesn’t want to talk about it. It’d been a frenzied, frantic thing. Confusing. He’s not sure that he doesn’t regret it. “It’s fine.”

“I meant the nightmare,” Steve says softly. He looks at him searchingly. “Does that happen often?” Bucky’s answer is a wordless nod, which Steve seems to accept. He sighs and pets at Bucky’s side in a way that Bucky wants to shrug off. Bucky looks down at where he’s holding him, at his big hands and the wedding band on his finger. “I have them too, sometimes,” Steve says.

Bucky’s eyes jerk up in surprise. “You do?”

He nods. “From my time in the service. I actually should’ve warned you by now, since we’re sharing a bed.” He smiles sadly. “I didn’t figure you’d be the one to have an episode.”

Bucky frowns. He wiggles out of Steve’s hold, uncomfortable. “Was just a dream,” he mumbles. “I’m fine.”

“You can talk to me about it,” Steve presses, and _goddamn_ him for being kind about this, Bucky thinks. He just wants Steve to leave it alone. “It was about your accident, wasn’t it?”

“How do you know that?”

“You talked,” Steve says. “Between the screaming, at least. You said things about your arm.”

Bucky sighs and forces himself to turn back to Steve. “Please, just leave it alone. I don’t… I don’t like to think about it, okay? It’s in the past, there’s no point.” At his left side, he curls his fingers into his palm. Weak. “Please?”

Steve doesn’t look happy but he nods anyway. “Okay.” He takes Bucky’s hand—his right one—and leads him towards the door instead. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s have a big breakfast.”

.oOo.

Sharon serves them a breakfast of poached eggs and toast, ham and fresh fruit. Coffee for Bucky, tea for Steve. She makes herself scarce then, going off somewhere else in the apartment. This leaves Bucky to wonder what he should say to fill the strange sort of silence that’s between them. It’s not awkward per se, but he has the feeling that Steve would like him to talk. “This is good,” he winds up saying, indicating the food with his fork. “Sharon is a, um, a good cook.”

Steve smiles. “Yes, she is.”

Okay, now it’s awkward. Bucky regrets having spoken. Why did he feel the need to please Steve with conversation? “Has she been with you long?” He hasn’t got any idea how Steve set up his Household. He’s only been a Senator for a little over a year.

“She worked for my parents,” Steve answers. “When I came back from the war, after… after my mother passed and I assumed the Seat, she offered to come along with me. Clint too. My fathers agreed to it.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

A knock sounds at the door, and then Sharon is peeking in. “Sir? There’s a guest.”

Steve sets his teacup down. “Who?”

“Ms. Carter.”

Steve visibly perks up at this, Bucky notices. He looks pleased. “Oh! Well invite her in.” He turns to Bucky, smile on his face. “Peggy Carter’s a friend of mine. You don’t mind a visit, do you?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, thinking, _Do I really have a choice?_ But he holds the remark back. He’s curious to see just who this woman is who’s made Steve look so happy. “Sure,” he says mildly. “But here?” He indicates where they’re sitting. It would be rude to entertain a guest at their breakfast table, and Steve seems to understand.

“Oh! of course you’re right.” Steve laughs nervously. He stands up and reaches for Bucky’s hand. Bucky feels… odd giving it. Steve has taken to leading him around by the hand and Bucky’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be going along with it, but for now he lets it slide. He’s mostly intrigued about who this woman is who’s got Steve acting flustered. “We’ll meet with her in the parlor,” Steve decides. “I’m sure she’s already there. Come on.”

Bucky follows along, and when they enter the room, Ms. Carter is indeed seated on one of the couches. Bucky’s a bit taken aback by how pretty she is; red-painted lips and perfectly coifed hair, pert features and a tiny waist underneath her dress. Bucky follows Steve’s lead into the room, feeling unsure.

Peggy smiles broadly at them—or well, at Steve. Her eyes are only on him, and they’re full of warm affection. “Steven,” she says, voice accented. Bucky doesn’t know why he’s surprised, given that they’re in England, but he is. He waits for her to acknowledge him. “And you must be James,” she says. She smiles genuinely at him, which Bucky hates. “It’s so good to meet you.”

“…Yes,” Bucky says. “I’m sorry but, how is it that you know Steve?”

“Pegs and I served together,” Steve cuts in. He’s got one hand at the small off Bucky’s back as he explains. “She saved my life a time or two.”

“You’re damned right.” Peggy smirks, eyes roving up and down Steve’s body, flicking briefly to Bucky, then Back to Steve. “Oh, Steven, it’s been too long. I’ve missed you! And when I heard that you were in London? Well I decided we simply _must_ catch up.” She makes no mention of the fact that it’s Steve’s honeymoon that’s brought him to London, and she pats the cushion right next to her in a somewhat forward invitation. 

It makes annoyance flash in Bucky, which is as surprising as it is confusing. He’s even more unsettled when Steve pointedly guides him to sit together on the couch opposite Peggy’s, pulling him against his side and holding him, and Bucky’s reaction is to relax into it, satisfied. He straightens up and tries to look even a fraction as poised as Peggy is. He’s not sure he succeeds, but Steve still has his arm around him. 

“So tell me,” Peggy says eagerly. “Have you heard from any of the Commandos lately?”

And that’s how it starts; Peggy starting up the passive aggressive exclusion of Bucky from the conversation by talking about her and Steve’s old war buddies, then other topics that he can hardly contribute anything to. Bucky sits and endures it, not quite able to make himself ruin Steve’s visit. The alpha seems to be enjoying Peggy’s company after all. 

He’s touching Bucky, of course, and he doesn’t do anything inappropriate, but it doesn’t take long for Bucky to figure out that Steve and Peggy have a history together. A romantic one. Peggy’s a beta, and Bucky is struck by the thought that she might very well have been the one Steve would’ve liked to take for his Second, had circumstances permitted it. 

Sharon had introduced her as “Miss,” not “Lady,” and Bucky can tell from the more relaxed way Peggy dresses and presents herself that she’s not Society like they are. He watches her talk with Steve and thinks that they probably would have married, if they could have. Steve is so happy and relaxed, so natural with her. He talks to her like a dear friend, but there’s a softness in his eyes too, something too close to love for Bucky’s taste. 

By the time that Peggy kisses Steve on each cheek and says goodbye, Bucky has swallowed down an annoying amount of jealousy and convinced himself all over again that he needs to expedite his plan to make Steve want a divorce. It’s going to be painful, but in the end it’ll be the best thing for both of them, he’s sure of it now. Steve doesn’t love him, and despite everything Bucky hates about their union, Steve _is_ a good man. He deserves to be with someone he truly loves, someone who isn’t crippled and scarred, someone who doesn’t have a tarnished family name and who truly wants a family life. Bucky will gain his freedom, and so will Steve. It’s what’s best.

He ignores the confusing tinge of jealously from Peggy’s visit, and when he’s alone with Steve again and the two of them are playing a game of chess before lunch, he pretends that he doesn’t know exactly what Peggy’s past with Steve is. “She seemed nice,” he says lightly. “You two seem to be very close.”

Steve flushes. “Well… yes. We are. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“You’re good friends.”

“Yes.”

Bucky considers his pieces, rotating a rook with the tips of his fingers. He can afford to lose it to Steve’s bishop. Three moves down the line and it’ll be worth it. “You were lovers, weren’t you?”

Steve inhales sharply. He looks utterly shocked that Bucky’s asked the question. “What? No!”

“You don’t have to lie,” Bucky drawls. He moves his rook. “Your turn.”

“I’m not lying,” Steve says, and now his tone is stern, his eyes sharp. “Peggy and I were never together like that.”

“But you wanted to be,” Bucky presses. “If you hadn’t been at war, if she weren’t common.”

“Bucky…”

“Would you have married her?”

Steve sighs. He moves his bishop and takes the rook. “How can I answer that? It was never a possibility.”

Bucky shrugs. He makes his next move and gets a little satisfaction as Steve’s following move is what he predicted. He advances his knight. “Will you take her as a mistress one day?”

“Bucky!” Steve glares at him. “No, I won’t. Stop it.”

“Stop what? It’s a common enough arrangement. I saw the way you were with her. You love her, don’t you?”

Bucky’s goading is working, if the tick in Steve’s jaw is anything to go by. “I did have feelings for her once, I’ll admit.”

“Please,” Bucky scoffs. “It’s obvious you still do.”

“Are you jealous?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Not really.” He nods at the board and waits for Steve to make a move. It’s predictable, and he follows suit by sliding his knight up the board. “Check.”

Steve twists his lips in frustration. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I still do.” Bucky flushes, working his jaw and _not_ reacting to that. Steve adds, “But I don’t love her, not in the same way I once did. That’s faded. It’s in the past. She’s just a very good friend now.” He gives Bucky a fiercely reproachful look. “I’m not the sort to take lovers on the side.”

“Pity.”

Steve growls. “And neither are you.” He jerkily moves his queen, interposing, but Bucky can see a way around it. “Is that clear?”

Bucky feels his guts swoop in something similar to but not exactly the same as arousal. He takes Steve’s queen and moves in for the kill. “Checkmate.”

“ _Is it clear_?” Steve says again, voice dangerously low. His face is turning a light shade of pink, and Bucky has to fight back a smirk at having aroused jealousy in him. 

“Crystal,” he says. He smiles pleasantly at Steve. “Now are we playing again, or having lunch?”


	8. A Tour of the Continent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second sex scene in this chapter is tagged slightly dub-con, if you’re really sensitive to that stuff.

They leave for the continent the next day. Sharon and Clint spend the morning packing up, and when they drive to the harbor, Bucky seizes the first opportunity he sees to misbehave. 

Steve has gone off to purchase ferry tickets and left Bucky in the first-class lounge, when he spots his chance in the form of three reporters. Society page writers are easily distinguishable. They tend to congregate in small groups in places like this, always seeming to have a low, eager chatter about them as they wait. They dress common but sharp, wear press badges on their lapels, and almost always have notepads and pens in hand, an assistant one step behind with a camera tucked under their arm. Bucky could spot them a mile away. 

They haven’t taken notice of him yet, but he quickly walks up and makes himself obvious. In the States they would’ve jumped at the sight of him, but now it takes the senior-most reporter giving Bucky a double-take before anything happens. “Your… Lordship?” the man blurts out, eyeing Bucky carefully. “Oh! Lord Barnes?” 

Bucky acts marginally bothered at being noticed. “Yes,” he confirms. “Good day.” The other reporters perk up and act more enthused at the confirmation of who Bucky is. Eager to have discovered someone of importance, they crowd closer and start asking him about his marriage to Steve and his trip to Europe. Bucky answers their questions politely, if somewhat haughtily. He’s waiting for just the right chance to say something utterly outrageous, when the senior reporter shocks him by asking, 

“And what about your father’s expulsion from the Senate? Have you spoken with your family since the ruling came down?”

Bucky freezes. “What?” he says. “His… what?” He feels his heart thud in his chest. He hadn’t known that the news had broken yet, hadn’t thought Frank Castle’s testimony was supposed to happen until—

“The Senate voted to impeach days ago.” The reporter looks at him expectantly. “Don’t you have anything to say about your husband’s vote? Were you surprised?”

“Are you angry with him?”

Bucky gapes. “His… his what?” He knows he sounds like a stammering idiot, but he’s completely unprepared for this. “My husband?” A feeling of dread is overtaking him as he makes sense of the reporters’ questions. _Oh no_ , he thinks. _It can’t be_. Steve wouldn’t… he couldn’t possibly…

“What was your reaction when you heard that your husband voted yea for the motion to impeach?”

Bucky feels sick. “What?!”

The reporters all pause, looking taken aback at Bucky’s response. They seem to realize that this is news to Bucky, and they jump into another round of hasty questions: How could he not know? Hasn’t he been paying attention to the news? Has his new Alpha been isolating him? 

Bucky gapes at them stupidly for another moment, before finally shouting at them to “Shut up, be quiet!” He’s breathing heavily, face flushed with embarrassment and nerves. His mind is reeling, all he can think about is that Steve voted for his father’s impeachment. Bucky can’t believe it! He thinks back to several days ago, when he’d woken and Steve hadn’t been in the apartment that morning; how Sharon had said Steve was called away to a meeting. …How Steve had told him he’d gone to send a telegram with how he wanted his vote to go. 

Bucky grits his teeth, furious. Steve had been out sending his vote to ruin Bucky’s family, strip them of their title and their place in Society! And all the while Bucky had been touring London with him! _Sleeping_ with him! Bucky swears he sees red. He turns back to the reporters. “My husband voted the way he was expected to,” he snaps. “He followed along after his peers in the Senate, toed the party line. I know for a fact he didn’t even read the indictment. I’ve seen the way he works. He inherited his Seat before he was ready for the position. His secretary basically does his job for him. It’s pathetic.”

The reporters’ eyes have gone _huge_ at Bucky’s scathing remarks. They’re scribbling down his words as fast as their hands can manage. “Some are saying that your marriage was hastily arranged in anticipation of your House’s scandal. Is this true?”

Bucky sees Steve coming over. He’s looking at the reporters and Bucky, eyes narrowed as he notices that Bucky’s giving an interview. He’ll be in earshot within seconds, and Bucky hurries to say, “Of course it’s true. I only married him for the money he promised my family. I had no idea he’d be so weak as to vote against my father!”

“So it’s not a happy marriage?”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t stand him.”

“Bucky!” Steve has arrived. He looks utterly alarmed. “What are you doing?!” Bucky just glares at him. The reporters start asking Steve questions about all of the things Bucky has just said, but Steve throws up a hand and silences them, saying, “This is over. I didn’t give permission for my Spouse to be interviewed.”

“But Senator, he—”

“Enough!” Steve snaps. He takes Bucky by the arm and begins moving him away. “I’m his Headship, I didn’t authorize this. You know the law. If any of you print a word of what he just said, I’ll have you prosecuted.”

The reporters all start complaining at that, then when the complaining doesn’t work, they switch to begging Steve to reconsider and grant his permission after all, but it’s too late. Steve’s already dragging Bucky away from the lounge. 

.oOo.

“PUT YOUR HANDS ON THE WALL,” Steve commands. He doesn’t shout, but it’s still his Voice and it’s no-nonsense. He’s dragged Bucky into a passenger cabin on the ferry, affording them enough privacy for discipline and for Bucky to pitch a fit. Bucky snarls at him and jerks away, but Steve just recaptures his wrists and shakes him. “ _Don’t_ make me hold you.”

“You voted against my father!” Bucky yells. He’s so mad he can practically taste it. “How could you do that, Steve?!”

“I had no choice in the matter and you know it,” Steve says. “The evidence was overwhelming. _Weapons smuggling_ , Bucky. He put our national security at risk.”

“It’s my family!”

Steve glares at him. “Put. your hands. on the wall.” When Bucky winces and hesitates, Steve growls. “If you don’t do it on your own, I’m tripling the punishment.”

Bucky swallows heavily, some of his anger being replaced by trepidation. He’s never seen Steve look so mad. Doubt flashes through him and he worries that maybe he went too far with the reporters. But no, he thinks, squashing that down. Steve deserves it and more. “I hate you,” he hisses. Slowly, he raises both of his hands up to the level of his shoulders and places his palms flat against the wall. 

Steve steps up against his side, close enough that he can murmur in his ear, “You are _never_ to give unauthorized comments to the Society pages, do you understand me?” 

Bucky clenches his teeth together. “Whatever,” he grits out. He’s startled into a yelp when Steve’s hand comes down unexpectedly, spanking him over the fabric of his trousers. “Ow!”

“You are never to give unauthorized comments to the Society pages,” he repeats. “ _Do_ you understand me?” He hits him again, making Bucky gasp.

“Yes!”

Steve gives him one more, which is almost more than Bucky can take—not physically but mentally. He’s so mad at Steve he can hardly stand it, and now he’s burning with the humiliation of being disciplined as well. When Steve steps away and tells him he can bring his hands down, Bucky whirls around with a glare. “Get away from me,” he hisses. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Steve seals his lips tight and says nothing. He just shakes his head in frustration at Bucky and goes and sits down on the cabin’s bench seating. “I can’t believe you,” he mutters. “Unbelievable.”

Bucky feels humiliated tears prick at the edges of his eyes. He swipes at them hastily, hoping that Steve doesn’t notice. “You can say that again.”

Steve doesn’t answer for a long moment, but when he does, he says, “…Bucky, come on, you’re not stupid. You knew what they had on your father. You know how politics work.”

“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have—”

“He was _wrong_ , Bucky. What he did was wrong. He deserved to be ousted.”

Bucky clenches his mouth shut, unwilling to admit that Steve’s right. It hurts too much. “My family—”

“Will be fine,” Steve finishes for him. “I’ve seen to that.” Bucky huffs and Steve shakes his head. “Just stop it,” he chides. “Sit down and relax.”

“Relax? You just spanked me!”

“Three times. You deserved it, and you’re _fine_ ,” Steve says. “I went easy on you.”

Bucky can’t argue that, because really? he knows that Steve did. It still infuriates him that he had to take it, though. “I hate you,” he mutters again, sitting down on the bench seat opposite Steve’s. “And I hope they print every word I said.”

“It was all lies.”

“I don’t care.” 

Steve sighs heavily. When he speaks next, his voice is soft. “Bucky?” he asks.

“ _What_?”

“Look at me.”

Bucky glances up, meeting Steve’s eyes a little nervously at his eerily quiet tone. “…What?”

“I don’t want to hit you, ever.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“But it’s becoming very clear to me that I’ll have to. You’re out of line.” Bucky’s eyes widen, and before he can formulate a response Steve adds, “So let me make this perfectly clear to you: the next time you act up like this, you won’t be getting off with three smacks over your clothes. Disrespecting me in public?” He shakes his head. “Not happening anymore.”

“Says you.”

“I’ve never been anything but nice to you,” Steve snaps. “There’s no good reason for you to behave like this!”

 _There’s one_ , Bucky thinks.

“From now on, if you _insist_ on stepping out of your place, I’ll put you back in it.” Bucky inhales sharply, ready to throw out a nasty retort, but Steve beats him to the chase, Voicing, “SAY, ‘YES, HUSBAND’.”

“You know I’m NOT omega. I don’t actually _have_ to—” 

“ _Bucky,_ ”

“Fine,” Bucky snaps. “Fine, Steve. You win. I won’t talk to the press.” Bucky knows he shouldn’t have done it. He knows he’s being disobedient and disrespectful and immature. He also knows that he’ll have to soldier on doing just that, if he ever wants this marriage to end. 

After today, though, that prospect seems much more daunting than it originally had. Bucky isn’t looking forward to it.

.oOo.

After the episode with the reporters, Bucky is careful to choose slightly less extreme ways to act up. He needs to drive Steve away, but figures that slow and steady will win the race. No need to push Steve so hard that he takes it out on Bucky’s hide. So he refrains from the whole public disrespect tactic and takes a more subtle approach. 

“Subtle” translates to the following:

1\. Leaning too far over the edge of the Eiffel tower restaurant’s deck, even after Steve tells him not to. Then spitting escargot into his napkin in plain sight of their waiter with an immature _“Ew! Snails, seriously?”_.

2\. Touching artifacts in Venice that he very well knows he’s not supposed to touch and earning the ire of their tour guide (“Sir! Please, _control_ your Spouse.”)

3\. Removing his swim trunks at the beach in Mykonos before Steve can stop him. (“It’s a _nude_ beach, Steve. They’re used to it here, it’s no big deal!”)

That last results in a rather flustered Steve dragging him back into their whitewashed villa and shoving him down onto the bed. Bucky gasps, bouncing once on the mattress as Steve shucks off his own swim trunks and climbs up over him. He pushes Bucky down by the shoulders and kisses him hotly. Bucky moans despite himself, Steve’s sun-warmed skin feeling so good up against his own. His hands fly to Steve’s body without thought, running over the hard muscles of his back. Bucky feels his cock taking interest and he makes a questioning noise when Steve pulls back from the kiss. “Thought you were mad?” he breathes.

“I am,” Steve says, but he just goes back to kissing him, running his hands all over him and rubbing their bodies together. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he tells him, flipping him over and slicking his fingers. Bucky inhales sharply when he feels the wet swipe over his entrance. They haven’t been intimate since the night of his nightmare.

“Tell me no,” Steve says quietly, voice right by Bucky’s ear. “Or else spread your legs.”

Heat pools low in Bucky’s gut at hearing that, and he instinctively parts his legs, wanting to please his Alpha. Steve makes a rumbling sound of approval and shoves a thigh between his legs. He rubs the slick around his hole, presses inside. He works Bucky open thoroughly; one then two then three, fingering him until he’s gasping and humping against the bed and asking for more. “Steve,” he pleads. “Come on.”

“Come on what?” He goads. “What do you want? Want me inside you?”

“Yes!” Bucky hisses, frustrated. After stripping on the beach, he thought Steve was dragging him back here to discipline him. Now that he knows he’s getting fucked, he can hardly stand waiting for it. Suddenly it occurs to Bucky that he’s terribly horny, has been for days. “Come _on_ ,” he grunts, impatient. Steve grips him by the hair to bend his neck, weighing him down with his body and scraping his teeth over the faint mark of where he’d bitten him that night. Bucky shivers at the possessive gesture. He _so_ does not regret having shed his swim trunks now. “You don’t like other people seeing me naked,” he says.

“No, I don’t.” Steve nips him again. “Your body’s for me, not anybody else.” He plants his knees outside of Bucky’s legs and fits his cock against his entrance, the head of it blunt and intimidating. “Say it,” he commands.

Bucky grins despite himself. “No.”

“SAY IT.”

Bucky groans, both at Steve’s Voice and the way he’s pushing his cock against his rim—not penetrating, not quite. “Fine,” Bucky huffs. “My body’s not for anybody else.” His pulse is thrumming fast as he admits it, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t aroused by the way Steve rewards him for the submission by pressing in, firm and slow. They groan in tandem as he’s filled. Steve doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated. “Fuck,” Bucky breathes. Steve is just holding still, his cock big and throbbing inside of him. “Move,” Bucky urges, trying to wiggle under Steve’s weight. “Steve, fuck, you gotta—” Steve snaps his hips back and fucks into him sharply. Bucky cries out. “Ah!”

“Mine,” Steve growls.

“Fuck, yeah okay, whatever,” Bucky says, not really caring if Steve wants to say bossy shit right now. Just so long as he keeps moving, keeps fucking into him real firm and good. He’s so _heavy_ behind Bucky, keeping him flat to the bed as he ruts into him. Bucky’s cock is absolutely trapped, rubbing against the sheets in a way that feels just perfect, and pretty soon he feels himself ramping up towards orgasm from the stimulation. “C-close,” he gasps, wanting Steve to know how goddamn good he’s fucking him. “Oh, _God_.”

Steve growls and pulls them both back, pulls Bucky’s hips up off the bed and fucks him harder and faster, their balls knocking together with every thrust. He reaches around and jerks him off until he starts to come. Once Bucky’s shot his load all over the sheets, Steve really lets himself go, pistoning his hips into Bucky almost painfully hard. He moans, then Bucky feels him reaching down, the ever-familiar squeez of Steve’s fist over his knot, milking the orgasm out of himself and into Bucky’s ass. The mental image of it makes Bucky groan against the bed, hardly caring as he collapses into his own sticky mess. 

“Ugh.”

.oOo. 

4\. He wanders off and gets lost in the biggest city in Turkey. 

In all fairness, he doesn’t really mean to. He sneaks off from Steve, intending to remain close by and only make the other man _think_ he’s lost him. But… he winds up losing track of Steve and then, well… then he gets all turned around. He tries to remember the places he and Steve said that they would see in the city that day, thinking that maybe if he can make his way to one of those places, he might meet up with Steve. But going anywhere on his own proves to be quite the mistake. The roads and shop signs are all in Turkish, after all, and nobody speaks English. Bucky gets increasingly embarrassed as he realizes that he has no clue how he’s going to find his way back to Steve or to their hotel. 

He’s been trying to figure out a solution by himself for over two hours and is just starting to contemplate taking himself to the nearest police station for help, when Steve shows up. “Bucky! Thank God!”

Bucky whirls around, heart leaping at the sound of Steve’s voice, then at the sight of him. He heaves a sigh—full-body, so relieved he could laugh. He feels like he almost does. “Oh, God,” he says. “Steve.” He rushes forward, prepared to… he doesn’t know, maybe hug him out of sheer relief, but he comes up short when he sees the look on Steve’s face. He gets close enough to scent him and… “Steve?” he asks. The alpha looks like he’s halfway ready to be sick. Or maybe scream. “Steve, I—”

“Did you do it on purpose?” Steve asks, tone unnaturally stiff. It’s like he’s trying with all his might to keep his voice neutral, waiting on Bucky’s answer. 

Bucky gulps, wanting to lie but knowing he needs to tell the truth. That’s what’ll piss Steve off, after all. This feels dangerous though, like maybe he’s reaching a tipping point with Steve. He has to tread carefully. “I… yes. But I was just going to pretend, then tail you. I didn’t mean to actually—”

“Goddammit Bucky!” Steve hisses, hands flying up to rake through his hair. “Why do you keep doing this?! Why?” When Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times, too nervous to answer, Steve says, “I don’t get you. It wasn’t like this in the beginning. _You_ weren’t like this. What changed?”

Bucky stares at him, guts twisting in guilt at Steve’s words. “I… I just…”

“What?” Steve throws up his hands. “Ever since England it’s like you’re a different person. What are you trying to do, _make_ me hate you?”

Bucky inhales sharply, tensing up. His eyes flick nervously around and he instantly knows his face gives him away. He curses himself for not being able to school his expression faster. Steve’s eyes widen in understanding. Bucky’s insides twist harder. “I don’t—”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Steve stares at him, slack-jawed. “That’s what you’ve been doing. Trying to get me mad enough to what? Divorce you?” Again, Bucky knows he gives himself away just by the way he stands frozen in place, mortification coloring his cheeks. Steve scoffs. “Fuck, are you serious?”

Bucky finally manages to scrounge up some sort of answer. He frowns, saying, “I never wanted this marriage and neither did you. If you just divorced me, I could have the life I wanted, my family would still have the money and you… you could marry somebody else.”

“Somebody else? Who?”

Bucky shrugs, thinking of Peggy Carter and her pretty face. “I dunno. Someone who wants this life. Someone you love.”

Steve freezes. “…Bucky. That’s so stupid.”

“It is not!”

“I _want_ to be married to you!” Steve snaps, and the veracity with which he says it takes Bucky by surprise. 

“You… do?”

“Yes!” Steve stalks over and grabs him by the back of the neck, eliciting a gasp. “Do you have any idea how worried I was when I couldn’t find you? In a city like this?!”

Bucky cringes. “I didn’t think—”

“No, you _didn’t_ think.” Steve scruffs him. “Look around you! We’re in freaking Istanbul, Bucky! Do you _know_ how many Western betas and omegas are kidnapped here? Sold into slavery?” Steve glares at him. “You could’ve been taken. With a pedigree like yours you’re practically a walking target!”

“Okay!” Bucky yells. “Jesus, I’m sorry!” 

Steve stares at him, and his face goes from angry to stony in only a few short seconds. It’s like he’s drawing into himself. “No,” Steve growls. “Not yet you’re not.” He tugs Bucky by his grip on his neck. “Come on.”

“W-where are we going?”

“Back to the hotel.”

.oOo.

In their room, Steve points at the bed. “Sit down.”

Bucky obeys, dread curling in his gut because this is different from the time he spoke to the press. Steve isn’t livid now like he was then. Oh, he’s angry all right, but this time it’s a different sort of anger. It feels… quieter, more dangerous; like a storm that’s about to break. “Steve,” he tries, worried. “I—”

“Be quiet,” Steve says. He stands in front of him, arms crossed. His brow is pinched. “You put yourself in real danger today, do you understand that?”

Bucky flushes and looks away. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you remember what I told you I’d do, if you ever put yourself in danger?”

Bucky’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything. He remembers. In front of him, Steve nods like he’s made up his mind. Bucky has a bad feeling about this. “Steve, please—”

“Get up,” he says quietly. “I want you to stand up and take off your clothes. All of them.” His tone is calm, but it leaves no room for argument. Bucky’s either going to have to fight, or else obey. 

He swallows heavily, not sure his pride can handle a struggle where he loses to Steve anyway. Inhaling shakily, he stands up. “I didn’t mean to get lost.” He says, hands already moving to take off his clothes. 

“I know,” Steve says. “You’re not being disciplined for being lost. You’re being disciplined for making stupid and selfish choices that wound up putting you in danger.”

Bucky has to grind his teeth together to keep himself from talking back. If Steve’s about to spank him, he doesn’t want to make it any worse for himself. He strips down to his underwear, and with one last hesitant glance at Steve, he pulls those off as well. Steve looks him over dispassionately, which only makes it more humiliating. 

“I want you to bend over the edge of the mattress,” Steve says quietly. “Grab one of the pillows and put it beneath your hips.” 

Bucky flushes and glares at Steve, but he does as told, positioning himself with slow, awkward movements. Once he’s bent over and just about as embarrassed as he’s ever been in his life, Steve’s hand appears on his back. Bucky gasps in surprise. 

Steve shushes him. “I’m going to give you a choice,” he says, surprising Bucky.

“…What?”

Steve rubs up and down the center of his back, eliciting goosebumps. “You can take thirty with my hand, or ten with my belt. It’s up to you.”

Bucky’s guts clench in trepidation. Both options sound horrible. “ _Th-thirty_?” he stammers. 

“Mmhm, or ten with the belt.”

Bucky’s eyes fall shut in defeat. Thirty sounds unbearable. He’s never been hit with a belt, but if it’s only ten lashes… He licks his lips and somehow manages to croak out, “…Ten.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just removes his hand and stands back. Bucky can hear the sounds as Steve unbuckles his belt and pulls it free from the loops. Something strange and confusing swirls low in his belly at those sounds, at the feeling of Steve touching the folded-over length of leather against his bare ass. “I want you to count them, Bucky,” Steve says, voice still so terribly quiet and intimate. 

Bucky shivers. “Okay.”

 _One_ is such a shock that the pain isn’t even fully appreciated. Bucky gasps and jerks where he lays. “Oh!” 

Steve doesn’t hit him again right away. He puts his hand on him again, rubbing his back in a way that’s almost comforting. “Count it.”

Bucky swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “One,” he whispers.

“Good,” Steve says. “Now hold still.”

Each lash after that first one is terrible. It hurts so much that it makes Bucky feel panicked, convinced that he can’t bear it. He yells out each time, and each time Steve waits for him to calm down, strokes his back, or his hair, murmuring something helpful to him. It’s awful, mortifying, but Bucky’s not sure he’d rather Steve be silent and distant. By the time the ninth strike lands, Steve is petting the backs of his fingers against Bucky’s cheek and telling him he’s good, that he can do this. And Bucky is crying.

“Count it, honey,” Steve says softly, when Bucky’s last shout has dissolved into soft sobs, shivers wracking his body. “Come on.”

Bucky gulps in air and says, “T-ten,” shakily. He’s never felt more unmoored in his life. He feels _devastated_. “Ten, ten, ten.” 

Distantly, he registers the sound of Steve’s belt dropping to the floor. Bucky whimpers when he sees Steve grab the lubricant from the bedside table. He’s horrified when he feels blood pulse low in his groin, his cock awakening as if he could possibly have interest in Steve touching him right now. “What—” he starts to ask, sniffling and wiping his messy face against the bedsheets. He tries to move, to get up, but Steve’s hand pushes down between his shoulder blades even as his other hand slides between his cheeks, wet with slick. 

“Shh,” he hushes him, holding him down as he wets him up and presses a finger inside. Bucky gasps and whimpers, embarrassment searing through him in a way it never has before. He shakes his head in denial, but between his legs, his cock is hardening. “Just let me do this,” Steve says. And it’s not bossy, is the thing. The way he says it is gentle, almost hopeful. The hand that’s been holding Bucky down lets up on the pressure and starts rubbing him instead; up and down his spine, like he’s some skittish animal. Bucky exhales a long, shuddery breath. “Good,” Steve says. He adds another finger, thrusting them gently. “You did good, Bucky,” he says, working him open, curling his fingers when he drags them out and making Bucky gasp. “Took your punishment just fine.”

Bucky whines, scrubbing his burning face against the bedcovers. He can’t stand it, hearing Steve talk to him like this, praising him and being sweet to him after he’s just hurt him so badly. Bucky feels like an open wound right now, oversensitive and raw and vulnerable. Even the pleasure Steve’s giving him is overwhelming, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. 

When Steve removes his fingers and presses in with his cock, Bucky lets out a tortured sob. “Oh! S-steve!”

Steve folds over his back, pressing them together, full-body. The ache from the belt flares to life in Bucky’s ass. “Shh,” Steve hushes, holding still inside of him, just letting him feel where they’re connected. “You’re good, Bucky. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bucky shakes his head, so confused by everything he’s feeling. He’s so embarrassed, so humiliated and ashamed, angry at Steve for hurting him like this. But he’s desperate for comfort and now Steve’s providing it and Bucky can’t stop himself from liking it. And his ass may ache but inside Steve is starting to make him feel good. He starts to roll his hips, smooth, easy movements that drag his cock over Bucky’s inner walls in just the right way. He moans softly, jagged little pants leaving him with every thrust in.

Steve plants his forearm on the bed and kisses the edge of his mouth. “Open your eyes, Sweetheart.” Bucky does, wanting to obey the order and do as Steve says, wanting his approval. He blinks at Steve through tear-clogged lashes. He makes a questioning sound, a confused sort of whimper that Steve understands. “S’okay, Buck,” he says, hips still moving so smooth and easy, giving Bucky everything he needs and keeping him from shattering apart. Bucky’s glad now that he didn’t fight him off, that he submitted to it. Steve’s whispering soft, gentle things to him as he fucks him, telling him, “Don’t have to fight me anymore, Buck. I’m not going to leave you. I’m your Headship and I’m gonna take care of you. Just gotta trust me to do that for you, baby.”

Bucky makes soft, pleasured noises as Steve fucks him, tears still pricking at his eyes because he’s been scraped raw by this. But Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He just kisses them away, and when he reaches under Bucky’s belly to wrap a hand around his cock, Bucky gasps and starts to come.

It’s the most confusing orgasm he’s ever had.

.oOo.

After that night in Istanbul, things are different. They travel back across the continent by train, and it’s like they’ve drawn a tentative truce without speaking a word. The memory of the things Steve did to him lingers in Bucky’s mind, making him blush whenever he thinks about it. He doesn’t know exactly how to feel. The welts from Steve’s belt take days to fade, and by the time they board the ship that’ll take them home, the soreness is completely gone as well.


End file.
